The week passed almost unnoticed for Kael. Days blurred together, merging into one continuous rhythm of study, training, and meditation.

  Morning—the academy. Lectures, practical lessons, and the occasional outburst from Draxion, which, as always, led to nothing.

  After classes—silence and self-discipline. Kael would return home, shut the door, and lose himself in training. Meditation, breath control, mantra awareness, mana flow regulation—all of it had become routine.

  He finished deciphering the scroll on the very first day, spending no more than five hours. Most of that time wasn’t spent on understanding the text, but on carefully redrawing the diagrams and charts so they looked precise and correct.

  Kael knew he couldn’t simply show up the next day claiming the decryption was done. That would raise too many unnecessary questions. So he stalled, leaving a few minor mistakes on purpose—small details that didn’t affect the core of the process but gave the illusion of “imperfect interpretation.”

  Over the weekend, he barely left his room except to eat, then returned immediately to continue training. His body was slowly adapting to the increasing strain, and his mind—to the steady discipline of mana control.

  During meditation, he began to feel more clearly how a spherical cocoon of energy was forming around his heart. The Mana Core was growing more stable, denser—compressing, strengthening with every session.

  ? ? ?

  And finally—the day had come when Kael decided to present his work at the Hall of Ancient Research.

  He had just finished his last classes at the academy and was now walking confidently down the long corridor leading to Master Violet’s office. The midday sunlight streamed through the windows, casting bright stripes across the floor, while his footsteps echoed through the silence.

  A pleased smile played on Kael’s face.

  “I’m sure they’ll be impressed,” he thought, looking ahead. “This method of compressing mana ore will benefit all of Lasthold. And I’ll be rewarded, no doubt about that.”

  He smirked slightly, adding to himself:

  “Once I get my payment—I’m buying mana elixirs first thing.”

  Raising his hand, Kael directed mana into his palm. The air quivered slightly, and a faint gray mist began to swirl above his skin.

  “Even without elixirs, my training is paying off,” he murmured, watching as the flow of energy condensed into a tiny shimmering cloud. “If everything goes well, I’ll reach the Core Mage stage by the end of the month.”

  He clenched his fist, dispersing the mist, and muttered thoughtfully:

  “Maybe this time I won’t embarrass myself in a duel.”

  With that, he stopped before a massive wooden door engraved with the Hall’s emblem. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

  From behind the door came Violet’s calm, composed voice:

  “Come in.”

  Opening the door, Kael entered with a light, almost carefree smile, raising his hand in greeting.

  “Good afternoon, Master Violet!”

  He expected her usual poised yet warm smile—that blend of discipline and quiet kindness that suited her so well. But this time, things were different.

  Violet lifted her head from the table covered with documents and scrolls. There was exhaustion in her face, dark shadows beneath her eyes. And when her gaze met his, her expression shifted even further.

  “Oh… it’s you…” she said, frowning.

  Her tone was colder than usual—even faintly irritated.

  Kael blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly recovered and laughed softly, trying to ease the tension.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, his smile widening.

  “I’m simply busy,” Violet replied curtly, lips pressed tight. Her eyes flicked back to the scrolls. There was a faint trace of hurt in her voice, nearly hidden but still there.

  Kael narrowed his eyes slightly, then chuckled under his breath, speaking in that light, teasing tone:

  “A shame… I just finished deciphering that scroll and thought I’d show you.”

  At his words, Violet’s eyes flickered—interest flashed there for a brief instant, like a spark breaking through fatigue. But she quickly composed herself, exhaled evenly, and lowered her gaze back to the papers. When she spoke again, her voice was cool and precise:

  “Unfortunately, I have no time right now,” she said, her tone edged with steel. “Go straight to Magister Duran. He should be available.”

  For a moment, silence hung between them.

  Kael stood still, slightly taken aback. A faint pang of guilt passed through him.

  “Looks like I went too far last time… I’ll have to make it up to her later.”

  He said nothing. He simply nodded, keeping his expression calm and courteous.

  “Understood, Master Violet,” he said evenly. “Then I’ll share my findings another time.”

  He turned toward the door, hand already on the handle, but paused for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. His smile remained light, but his voice carried a note of sincerity.

  “And… I’m sorry if my jokes crossed the line. Once I earn some money, I’ll buy you something nice—something delicious—as a peace offering.”

  Those words, unexpectedly genuine, caught Violet off guard. She looked up—not sharply, but slowly, as if trying to decide whether he was joking or speaking in earnest.

  A pause followed.

  Kael stood in the doorway, calm and steady, without his usual smirk—and somehow, that unsettled her more than anything else.

  She narrowed her eyes, studying him, then finally said with the faintest, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips:

  “I’ll think about accepting it.”

  Kael smiled in return and inclined his head slightly.

  “Then we have a deal.”

  With that, he gave a small bow and stepped out, leaving behind a faint trace of energy—like the echo of a smile that hadn’t quite faded yet.

  ? ? ?

  The corridor greeted him with silence.

  The sound of his footsteps echoed softly off the stone walls as he walked, hands buried thoughtfully in his pockets.

  He took a deep breath. “Truly—freedom can be intoxicating. In my case, it’s the strongest drug there is.”

  He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips at the thought.

  “I need to keep myself in check and stay grounded. Once I get my reward—I’ll focus on training. Either way, this teenage shell won’t charm the kind of women I like…” he smiled wryly to himself.

  ? ? ?

  With those thoughts, Kael quickly reached the massive gates of the Magisters Hall. Two enormous doors of dark wood, inlaid with gold, loomed before him like the entrance to a sanctuary of knowledge.

  He raised his hand and knocked several times—the deep sound rolled through the corridor, echoing off the stone walls.

  “Magister Duran! It’s me—Kael!” he called out loudly, making sure his voice carried confidence.

  Almost at once came the familiar, pleased voice:

  “Come in!”

  Kael pushed open the heavy door, which groaned as it swung inward, revealing the vast chamber beyond.

  The Magisters Hall was as impressive as ever. Light streamed gently from the dome windows above, falling across tables cluttered with scrolls, books, and magical instruments. The air carried the faint scent of parchment, dust, and herbs.

  At the main desk, as always, sat Duran—the gray-bearded elder with an alert, intelligent gaze. His crimson eyes gleamed with curiosity as they fixed on Kael.

  “Oh? He’s not alone this time…” Kael noted inwardly.

  To Duran’s left, at a smaller table, sat an elderly woman. Thin, poised, with the bearing of a queen. Her silvery-gray hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun, not a single strand out of place. The fine lines on her face, her high forehead, and striking violet eyes gave her an air where sternness and grace intertwined.

  Kael couldn’t help but notice the presence she radiated—not just discipline, but power, both inward and mental. A majestic, almost monumental woman whose very being filled the hall with respect and stillness.

  Kael immediately bowed, standing straight, and said with calm reverence:

  “I greet the esteemed Magisters.”

  His voice was steady, carrying quiet respect. Then he straightened, gently closed the heavy door behind him, and approached Duran’s desk.

  As he walked, the woman lifted her chin slightly, following him with a sharp yet thoughtful gaze. A restrained, but warm smile touched her lips.

  “So this is our young genius?” she said softly, her tone carrying that blend of intrigue and surprise. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Duran?”

  The old man chuckled, his red eyes gleaming in the filtered light from above.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, rising slightly and gesturing toward the woman. “This is Magister Priscilla. One of the three Magisters,” then added with a hint of meaning, “and, like the rest of the Hall’s leadership, she happens to share my views.”

  Hearing that, Kael—who had just reached them—inclined his head in a deep bow.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Magister Priscilla,” he said with polite composure.

  The woman nodded approvingly, a gentle spark of recognition flickering in her violet eyes.

  “The pleasure is mine, Kael,” she replied calmly, her tone warm but dignified. “I must admit, I’ve been eager to meet the young man who managed to surprise Duran himself.”

  Kael didn’t have time to respond before Duran’s keen gaze fell upon the two scrolls in his hands.

  “Ho-ho,” the old man chuckled, his eyes lighting with keen interest. “You’ve taken to work quickly, I see. Admirable!”

  He craned his neck slightly, squinting as though trying to read the markings on the scrolls.

  “Here for advice?” Duran added, his tone a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

  But before Kael could answer, Priscilla gave a soft, elegant laugh, covering her lips with her thin fingers.

  “Or perhaps our young genius has already deciphered something?” she said, playfully but kindly. “Something valuable, maybe?”

  Duran chuckled warmly, turning toward her.

  “That would be wonderful,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of tired hope. “If that were the case, the Three Families might finally leave us in peace for a while.”

  He tapped his fingers against the table, frowning slightly.

  “Their constant threats to cut our funding are getting tiresome…” he added, glancing aside, as though recalling far too many such negotiations.

  Priscilla let out a displeased hum and lifted her chin a little higher.

  “Indeed,” she said, her tone sharp with barely contained irritation. “They believe the whole of Lasthold would collapse without their so-called ‘patronage’…”

  She was about to continue, clearly ready to add a few cutting remarks, but Kael’s calm, confident voice interrupted her.

  “You won’t believe this,” he said with a faint smile, “but I actually did find something very valuable.”

  Duran and Priscilla both turned their heads toward him. Their expressions shifted—first surprise, then focus.

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  “And as we discussed before,” Kael continued, taking a step forward, “this discovery could benefit all of Lasthold—not just the elite.”

  A short silence fell over the hall. Priscilla frowned slightly, though curiosity sparked in her eyes; Duran, on the other hand, smiled faintly—the look of a man amused and intrigued by youthful boldness.

  “Well, well,” he said quietly, “now you have my attention.”

  Kael didn’t prolong the intrigue. Carefully, he unrolled the aged, yellowed scroll and placed it on the table before Duran. The parchment unfurled with a soft rustle, revealing a diagram of many concentric circles, intersecting lines, and runic symbols.

  Priscilla immediately rose from her seat. Her usually rigid posture softened with curiosity as she stepped closer, standing beside Duran. Her violet eyes traced the patterns, and her fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the parchment, as if afraid to damage its fragile surface.

  Duran smoothed the corners with his palm so the scroll wouldn’t roll back up. The parchment crackled faintly, and the scent of old paper filled the air.

  His eyes, framed by fine wrinkles, lingered on the schematic drawings and runic strings. He studied each symbol closely, as though comparing it to something deep in his memory.

  Priscilla leaned in, resting her chin lightly on one hand. Her gaze sharpened—the focused, analytical stare of a scholar dissecting an intricate system.

  For several minutes, both were silent, occasionally exchanging brief glances as their fingers moved along the lines and notes. Only the soft creak of the table and the rustle of parchment broke the stillness.

  “Hmm… fascinating,” Duran finally said, tapping one of the circles with his nail. “Looks like instructions for refining stone… or perhaps metal. See here? This section outlines what seem to be compression stages.”

  He frowned, tracing the diagram’s inner ring.

  “Though the sequence is strange… not like any process we use,” he added thoughtfully.

  Priscilla nodded quietly, eyes still fixed on the parchment.

  “I’d say it’s referring to construction materials,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care. “Perhaps the ancients used this method to reinforce walls or foundations.”

  She tilted her head slightly, examining a complex symbol near the bottom of the diagram—a tangle of runes converging into a single point.

  Duran gave a short, knowing chuckle, leaning back in his chair.

  “I suppose our young friend believes this could be used to strengthen the city walls,” he said approvingly. “A noble thought. But if only it were that simple. The walls are already built—it’s far easier to reinforce them with sealing arrays and runic wards.”

  There was no mockery in his tone—only the weariness of someone who knew too well how the world worked.

  Priscilla, still gazing at the scroll, smiled faintly.

  “Perhaps,” she said softly, stepping back. “Still, the knowledge is intriguing. The Builders’ Guild might take an interest in it.”

  She finally lifted her eyes and looked straight at Kael. Her gaze was sharp, almost testing.

  “How much were you able to decipher?” she asked, folding her hands on the table.

  Kael raised his chin slightly, a calm but confident smile touching his lips.

  “A great deal,” he replied evenly. “And you’ll be surprised when you realize what this scroll actually contains.”

  Duran lifted a thick brow, the corners of his mouth twitching—whether from curiosity or doubt, it was hard to tell.

  “You’re saying we’re mistaken?” he asked, a note of amused skepticism in his voice, though without any malice.

  Kael nodded calmly.

  “In general, you’re thinking in the right direction,” he said, stepping closer to the table. “But because no one saw the meaning in these writings, none of the Magisters ever bothered to decipher it fully. And that’s a pity…”

  He leaned forward, smoothing the edge of the parchment with his palm, and pointed to one of the faded symbols near the bottom of the scroll.

  “This isn’t about processing ordinary stone,” he said with a hint of intrigue. “It’s about mana ore.”

  The words were clear and firm.

  Duran and Priscilla exchanged glances, then both bent closer to the spot he indicated. The old man squinted, his red eyes gleaming with focus, while Priscilla traced the worn symbol lightly with her fingernail.

  “Well…” Duran murmured, frowning. “Looking closely, the runes do resemble those used for ore refinement…”

  “But in this condition, it’s hard to be certain,” Priscilla added without lifting her eyes from the text. Her voice had grown softer, the confidence from earlier replaced by caution.

  Kael nodded in agreement and said evenly:

  “That’s what I thought too. But!” he raised a finger, his tone brightening with enthusiasm. “While choosing which text to study, I came across a book on spatial storage. It mentioned a brief passage—small, but fascinating. It described a certain process for refining mana ore.”

  He spoke faster now, swept up in his own explanation.

  “Out of curiosity, I started looking for something similar,” Kael continued, tapping the old scroll on the table. “And when I stumbled upon this one—and really looked at the symbols—it just clicked!”

  As he said that, he pulled a second scroll from his belt—fresh, written on new parchment.

  “Allow me to show you,” he said, unrolling it directly over the original.

  The elders instinctively leaned forward. The rewritten text glowed with crisp, precise symbols and clearly drawn diagrams. Unlike the half-erased original, this version was clean—every line, every rune, every annotation perfectly clear.

  And the further Priscilla and Duran read, the more their faces changed. First curiosity—then concentration—then gravity… and finally, genuine astonishment.

  Priscilla straightened, disbelief flickering in her eyes, while Duran leaned even closer, muttering under his breath.

  Watching their reactions, Kael added calmly:

  “The method of compressing mana ore described here still needs testing,” he said with quiet confidence. “But if it works… all of Lasthold will benefit.”

  While the two Magisters silently read, Kael continued, animated now, gesturing lightly as he spoke:

  “Any spatial storage requires compressing vast amounts of mana ore,” he began, his voice gaining strength.

  He brought his palms together, as if squeezing something invisible between them.

  “You have to condense an entire mass of ore into one small crystal to create a stable pocket space inside,” he explained, glancing from Duran to Priscilla. “And the larger the capacity, the harder—and more expensive—the process becomes.”

  He paused briefly, letting his words sink in, then continued with a sharper tone:

  “Right now we do it crudely—by creating a sphere of magic that simply crushes the ore. But!” he raised a finger again “that method wastes enormous amounts of mana. The losses reach up to eighty percent!”

  With that, Kael pointed at his own scroll, highlighting a particular pattern—a complex runic structure spiraling toward the center.

  “Here lies the solution,” he said with excitement. “This method compresses the ore in short bursts, cooling it between phases to prevent overheating. Fortunately, all the key figures and calculations in the original survived.”

  He straightened, a confident smile lighting his face.

  “With this technique, we can create spatial storage far more efficiently. Exponentially more efficiently!” he emphasized, meeting their eyes, his voice ringing with the confidence of a true researcher who knew the worth of his discovery.

  Duran, still reading the lines on the scroll, murmured under his breath, as if afraid to break his train of thought:

  “Compression, cooling… compression again… controlled cyclic process…” he paused, tracing a finger over one of the diagrams, and frowned.

  His gaze sharpened, filled not just with surprise, but with disbelief verging on awe.

  “If this is true…” he said slowly, leaning back. “Then the prices of spatial storage will collapse.”

  He looked up at Kael, his voice a mix of astonishment and quiet exhilaration:

  “It means they’ll become affordable not just for the elite, but for craftsmen too. Imagine—miners, merchants, herbalists, farmers… all of them will want to own one to ease transport and storage.”

  He was speaking louder now, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

  Priscilla nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the diagrams. There was a glimmer in her eyes—a rare light for a woman known for her composure and discipline.

  “This truly changes everything,” she said. “Workers will no longer have to haul heavy loads by hand. It will save strength, time… increase productivity.”

  She ran her hand just above the parchment, almost reverently.

  At that, Kael smiled—calm, self-assured, with that faint undertone in his voice that appeared whenever he knew he had a winning argument.

  “Not only that,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “The elite will be quite pleased as well.”

  Duran raised his eyes from the scroll, a thoughtful smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Ah… of course,” he murmured, half to himself. “They’ll be able to create storage with much greater capacity now.”

  Kael nodded, his tone turning practical—the voice of someone wrapping up an important explanation.

  “Exactly. To make storage with the same capacity as those owned by the Three Families, we’ll now need only a fraction of the raw material. But…” he paused, looking from one Magister to the other, “nothing stops them from using just as much mana ore as before. The result will simply be storage units several times larger.”

  Duran gave a quiet chuckle, glancing aside.

  “So the benefits go both ways… for common folk and the powerful alike,” he said. “That’s a balance everyone can accept.”

  Priscilla fell silent for a moment, thinking. Then her stern features softened, and a faint, admiring smile curved her lips.

  “The people gain relief,” she said, still gazing at the scroll, “and the elite keep their pride. They’ll still flaunt their rings and amulets with spatial pockets… only now they’ll be competing over whose is deeper,” she added with dry, delicate irony.

  Kael gave a quiet chuckle and nodded slightly.

  “And most importantly,” he said calmly, “the technology is harmless. It gives no one more power than they already have. Only convenience.”

  Silence followed his words.

  Both Priscilla and Duran looked up at him at once. Their eyes—seasoned, trained to read everything in people: ambition, deceit, fear—now reflected something else. Not belief or doubt, but mild shock, as though what stood before them no longer fit into familiar definitions.

  For a brief moment, both old mages felt an uncanny sensation—as if the Gods themselves had sent the Hall of Ancient Research this small “monster.”

  Seeing that the two elders had grasped the full weight of what he’d shown them, Kael allowed himself a small, easy smile, and to lighten the tension, added with a playful glint in his eye:

  “So… can I count on a bonus? I could really use one right about now.”

  For several seconds, silence hung in the hall. Only the distant cry of a bird and the whisper of wind outside broke it.

  Kael winced inwardly: “Apparently, not the best time for a joke…”

  But then Duran slowly rose from his chair. His face was grave, and in his crimson eyes there flickered a strange mix of pride and unease.

  “Of course you can,” he said at last. His voice was steady, but carried a weight it hadn’t before. “Though I’ll admit… I didn’t expect you to decipher something like this so quickly.”

  Kael blinked in surprise, tilting his head slightly to the side.

  “Is that… a problem?” he asked, looking at the old man with genuine confusion.

  Priscilla, who had been silently observing their exchange until now, bit her lower lip and shifted her gaze to Kael. For a few seconds she seemed to be choosing her words, then said quietly but firmly:

  “The Magisters are bound to the Council of Elders by a magical contract.”

  She straightened, folding her arms across her chest, and continued:

  “We’re required to submit all completed research to the Council. Without exception. We cannot withhold any discoveries—even those that seem harmless or insignificant.”

  Duran nodded slowly, confirming her words. He stepped to the table and pointed to several parchment reports stacked neatly together.

  “When we deliver our findings to the Council,” he said, “we must provide a full account—not only the results, but also the methods, the sources, every detail. Everything.”

  He paused, his gaze shifting to Kael, and for a moment his eyes held a trace of weariness.

  “That’s why,” he said more quietly, “when we encounter something valuable but potentially dangerous… we simply stop deciphering it.”

  Duran exhaled and gestured toward the scroll on the table.

  “It’s how we protect knowledge from those who might use it against Lasthold.”

  Kael frowned, still not fully grasping where they were leading.

  “But the information I provided isn’t dangerous,” he said, sounding slightly lost. “Or am I missing something?”

  Duran shook his head slowly, his expression taking on that patient look of an elder speaking to a clever but naive student.

  “The problem isn’t the information itself,” he explained calmly. “You finished your work. And that means, by the contract, we’re obligated to submit it to the Council.”

  He stepped toward the scroll, placed a hand on it, and added:

  “And we must also disclose who the author is.”

  The words were simple—but heavy.

  At that moment, Kael finally understood what had been troubling them all along. His eyes narrowed slightly; his expression grew serious.

  “So… they’ll find out about my abilities,” he said slowly.

  Duran nodded.

  “Exactly,” he replied tiredly. “As I told you before—I never believed you’d manage to decipher something valuable so soon, so I didn’t mention it earlier.”

  He stroked his beard, frowning.

  “To be honest,” he added, “I can barely believe it even now.”

  Priscilla, standing nearby, frowned as well. Despite the genuine admiration in her eyes, she was beginning to grasp the full scale of what Kael had done.

  “Boy,” she said, shaking her head slightly, “how did you even manage this? You practically found a golden needle in a haystack!”

  Kael took a deep breath. He knew there was no point in crafting excuses—so he went with the simplest lie. Simple, but convincing.

  “You may not believe me,” he said evenly, “but I have an innate gift for languages. It’s like… they arrange themselves in my head when I see them.”

  Priscilla hummed thoughtfully, though her eyes still carried a hint of doubt.

  Kael, however, immediately shifted the conversation, his tone becoming more serious.

  “But that’s not what matters right now,” he said evenly. “What happens next? Am I in danger?”

  Duran placed a hand on his shoulder—the gesture unexpectedly gentle, almost fatherly.

  “Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” he said with a faint, reassuring smile. “But most likely, the Council of Elders will summon you for an audience soon.”

  He paused briefly, then added with a knowing undertone:

  “And they’ll try to recruit you.”

  Priscilla let out a quiet sigh and added grimly:

  “And if we try to dissuade them… the Three Families might become suspicious.”

  She looked at Kael intently, almost with concern.

  “And trust me—that would be the worst possible outcome for all of us.”

  A faint chill ran down Kael’s spine—not enough to shake him, but enough to make him wary. He took a slow breath, lowering his gaze, and thought to himself:

  “External events are moving faster than my strength. Just as always…”

  He smiled faintly to himself, lifted his gaze, and replied, calm and quietly confident:

  “No need to worry. I won’t agree to any conditions. While I’m still young, I can use the excuse that I don’t wish to be tempted at the beginning of my journey. Acting the part of a virtuous man—not a bad strategy, wouldn’t you say?”

  Duran chuckled and shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling into an approving smile.

  “Well… you’ll still have to appear before the Council of Elders,” he said with mild irony. “We’ll see soon enough whether that excuse works or not.”

  For a while, the hall was quiet—warm, peaceful. Then the old man sighed, his tone softening with genuine warmth:

  “In any case, you’ve done wonderfully, Kael. On behalf of the entire Hall of Ancient Research—thank you.”

  Kael shook his head.

  “No need,” he replied. “I’m part of this Hall now. So there’s no reason for thanks.”

  He paused for a second, then added with a sly grin:

  “Besides… I prefer my gratitude in coin! Haha!”

  Priscilla couldn’t help but laugh quietly, and Duran burst out laughing, clapping Kael on the back.

  “Where does a boy like you get all that cunning?” he asked, still smiling.

  Kael clasped his hands behind his back, pretended to think, and replied with utmost seriousness:

  “I suppose my long and arduous fifteen years of life made me this way.”

  At that, both elders laughed even louder—and for a brief moment, the hall, usually steeped in scholarly silence, filled with the warmth of simple human laughter.

  But Kael, still wearing that faint smile, murmured inwardly:

  “If only they knew… I’ve already lived more than seven centuries.”

  He sighed quietly, watching the Magisters laugh, their voices echoing faintly through the hall.

  “To be fair, it wasn’t much of a life… I spent most of it alone, buried in books and the dust of forgotten archives.”

  For a moment, a shadow crossed Kael’s eyes—not of fatigue, but of something deeper, a quiet, wordless melancholy. Yet in the next heartbeat, his expression returned to calm, touched again with that faint, mocking composure.

  He looked up, listening to Duran still chuckling about his “arduous fifteen years,” and added silently to himself:

  “Things are different now. I won’t let anyone bind me in chains again.”

  Kael smiled slightly—slipping once more into his role: the bold, gifted young prodigy who, before long, would be known to many.