That couldn’t be happening.

  And yet it was.

  When the endless magical pressure finally loosened its grip, Kel lay motionless for a few heartbeats, afraid that even a single breath might bring it back. The grass beneath his fingers was damp and cool, smelling of crushed leaves and distant rain. He forced himself to inhale.

  Air scraped through his throat like broken glass.

  He had known things weren’t going according to plan – but this far off?

  Kel pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the chaotic pulse of his mana core slowly settling, like a beast curling back to sleep after a fit of rage.

  So what was he supposed to do now?

  If he’d been given a life in this world, the last thing he wanted was to watch it die before he even figured out how to live in it.

  Pull yourself together, he told himself. The phrase was becoming his personal spell–one he cast more often than any real magic.

  Fine. The Gray Calamity had arrived earlier than it was meant to. Catastrophic, yes – but not necessarily the end. This world still had its great hero, Aigon. The man who, in every version of the story Kel knew, stood against disasters that made armies and mages tremble.

  Aigon would handle it.

  Kel let out a short, humorless laugh.

  He was truly awful at lying to himself.

  He slowly pushed himself upright, wincing as pain flared through his elbow. Dirt clung to his cloak; a petal from an apple leafs had stuck to his sleeve. For a legendary archmage, he spent an embarrassing amount of time sprawled on the ground.

  “I need to warn them,” he muttered to the empty orchard. “They have to be ready.”

  If the Tower mobilized early, if the kingdoms strengthened their borders, if the hero wasn’t left to face the first wave alone – then maybe, just maybe, no one would have to die.

  What had happened tonight couldn’t have gone unnoticed by the Tower mages. And if he left them a hint, something to point them in the right direction…

  Kel imagined himself marching into the Tower, announcing the coming of the Calamity like some prophet from the street.

  He smiled bitterly.

  Who would believe him? No one would listen to a nameless adventurer with mud on his boots and borrowed artifacts on his belt. And even less to a vessel carrying the power of the very archmage the world feared.

  He stared at the dark line of trees beyond the orchard. The night looked peaceful–offensively peaceful, considering what had just torn through reality.

  The second problem was beyond his control.

  But the first…

  Kel straightened his cloak and began walking toward the road, steps slow but steadier with every stride.

  For the first problem, there were still a few options left.

  “What are you doing?”

  For several days now she’d been looking for a way to apologize–for the whole “ordinary commoner” thing. It had been horribly rude, and no amount of nerves could excuse that.

  Kel was sitting at a table in the library, buried under a small mountain of books. His head was clutched in his hands, his face the very picture of despair.

  “Five hundred and ninety questions. I’ve read fifty, and I can already feel my brain leaking out of my ears.”

  Vanessa gave him a sympathetic smile. She hated tests and exams herself. Every scrap of knowledge she’d managed to cram into her head had a habit of evaporating the moment she saw a teacher–or an answer sheet.

  For a long time, she’d genuinely believed she was hopelessly stupid because of that.

  She perched on the edge of the table. Good thing Great-Grandmother had been visiting friends for the past month and couldn’t see this. Otherwise she would’ve dragged Vanessa off by the ears without a shred of embarrassment, guest or no guest.

  Some childhood habits were painfully hard to grow out of.

  Too bad Kel probably thought she was a spoiled, arrogant idiot now.

  Though… maybe he was right. Maybe she did think too highly of herself.

  After all, she’d practically invited herself along on this new trip, wanting to prove she wouldn’t be a burden. And what had happened? She’d almost died the first time they ran into a real monster.

  Maybe level forty really was her limit. Maybe she’d never reach anything beyond that. Maybe she should just listen to her father and grandmother and give up on the idea of becoming a true warrior altogether.

  She could almost see her grandmother again, wrinkling that elegant little nose.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but you’re no Estella.”

  She remembered the look on her father’s face when she’d gotten out of bed and gone straight back to training–dark, worried, disappointed.

  No one had ever been happy about her choice.

  Too weak.

  Too foolish.

  Too useless.

  Vanessa studied him for a moment, then carefully picked up one of the books lying closest to her.

  “Advanced Theory of Magical Contracts” she read out loud.

  Her eyebrow twitched.

  “You know… most people start with something less boring.”

  Kel didn’t even look up.

  “I tried,” he said tiredly. “Unfortunately, the Guild seems to think that any candidate aiming for a new rank should have started preparing for the exam twenty years before they were even born”

  She placed the book back down and crossed her arms.

  “So,” Vanessa said, “is this what Adventurers do in their free time? Drown themselves in books and quietly suffer?”

  “Only the responsible ones,” Kel replied.

  That earned a small, reluctant smile from her.

  Vanessa got up from the table.She hesitated, rocking slightly on her heels. “About the other day,” she began. “What I said. About you being a commoner.”

  Kel finally looked up. His expression wasn’t angry–just tired.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “You were scared. People say worse things when they’re scared.”

  “I still shouldn’t have said it,” Vanessa insisted. “It was cruel. And stupid.”

  She took a breath. “So… I’m sorry.”

  Kel studied her for a long second, then nodded once.

  “Apology accepted.”

  Just like that. No drama. No tension. Somehow, that made her chest feel lighter–and heavier at the same time.

  “…You’re not going to lecture me?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Believe me, I’ve had enough lectures for one lifetime.”

  Vanessa relaxed a little and leaned against the edge of the table.

  “What are you studying for, anyway?” she asked. “Those questions looked… intense.”

  Kel rubbed his face with both hands.

  “An evaluation,” he said. “Official. Mandatory. Very annoying.”

  “How many questions did you say?”

  “Five hundred and ninety.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s not an evaluation. This is torture..”

  “That was my exact thought.”

  She laughed–then caught herself and looked away.

  “…You’re really serious about this,” Vanessa said more quietly. “About becoming stronger.”

  Kel’s smile faded.

  “I don’t have the luxury of being casual,” he replied.

  Something in his tone made her straighten.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He hesitated.

  For just a fraction of a second, Vanessa thought he would dodge the question. Joke it away. Change the subject.

  Instead, he said, “Because if I’m not ready, people die.”

  Simple. Flat. Matter-of-fact.

  Vanessa swallowed.

  “…You say things like that way too calmly.”

  “You get used to it,” Kel said. Then added, almost as an afterthought, “Or you pretend you do.”

  Silence settled between them.

  Vanessa clenched her hands.

  “I wanted to prove I wasn’t useless,” she said suddenly. “That I could handle being out there. Fighting real monsters.”

  Kel looked at her again – really looked this time.

  “And?” he asked.

  She laughed softly, without humor. “I almost died in the first fight.”

  “That doesn’t make you useless,” Kel said immediately.

  She blinked. “It doesn’t?”

  “No,” he said. “It makes you inexperienced. There’s a difference.”

  Vanessa frowned. “Everyone else seems to think my limit is level forty.”

  “Everyone else isn’t you,” Kel replied.

  She stared at him. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know fear,” he said. “And I know stubbornness. You have plenty of both.”

  That… was uncomfortably accurate.

  “…So what now?” she asked. “I train harder? Fail again?”

  Kel closed the book in front of him with a decisive thump.

  “Now,” he said, standing up, “you stop measuring yourself by other people’s expectations.”

  He paused, then added, “And you stop assuming one bad outcome defines your entire future.”

  Vanessa looked away, her throat tight.

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “No,” Kel said softly. “It really isn’t.”

  She met his eyes again – and for the first time, she didn’t see an aloof, unreadable mage.

  She saw someone just as tired. Just as uncertain.

  “…Thank you,” she said.

  Kel picked up the top book from the pile and sighed.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. “I still have five hundred and forty questions left.”

  Vanessa smiled – this time, genuinely.

  “Well,” she said, “if your brain starts leaking out of your ears, I’ll fetch a healer.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  “And,” she added, already turning toward the door, “Kel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “…I’m glad you’re here.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Vanessa’s footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving the library cloaked in quiet shadows. The candles flickered, casting dancing light over the rows of books, their leather spines worn from decades of study. Dust motes swirled lazily in the beams that crept through the tall windows.

  Kel stayed frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door, as if willing her words to linger longer.

  He exhaled, forcing himself back to the table. Five hundred forty questions stared up at him from their pages like tiny merciless soldiers, waiting for him to break. His head throbbed with the memory of the first fifty he had attempted, and the sensation of his brain slowly leaking from his ears was only partially hyperbolic.

  He reached for the next book on the stack, brushing dust from its spine. Some of the books were miraculously found in the baron’s library. But most of them Kel had to rent from the Guild.

  Kel’s eyes locked on the last line.

  He definitely hadn’t ordered a book like this.

  A cold tightness coiled in his chest, an echo of something he didn’t have a memory of, yet understood instinctively. Wrong. Too precise. Too relevant.

  “Not now,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands that refused to behave. “I’ve had enough omens for one week.”

  The library responded as if mocking him. The air beside the table trembled ever so slightly, like the faint pressure of a hand brushing against reality.

  The world blinked.

  [System Notice]

  Kel’s hands froze above the book, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had encountered system prompts before, but never like this“Very funny,” he muttered, half to himself, half hoping someone–or something–might answer. “Who’s messing with me now?”

  No answer came. Only another line appeared, sharp and cold beneath the first.

  [Hidden Trigger Activated]

  Chartis

  The book slipped from his fingers and hit the table with a dull thud.

  “Vanessa?”

  What bond? What trigger?

  He had done nothing – just talked, tried to act like a normal person for once instead of a walking catastrophe with too much mana and too many secrets.

  Kel rose to his feet.

  If the system had started marking people around him as variables, this was no longer a simple deviation from the story. It meant the world was reacting to him – actively, personally.

  And that was dangerous.

  He rubbed his face, trying to slow the chaotic rush of thoughts. Than he clenched his fists/“Fine,” Kel said quietly. “Observation it is.”

  But a colder idea had already taken root in the back of his mind.

  What if the world isn’t adapting to me…

  What if I’m becoming part of its next disaster?