CAITLYN’S POV:

  She was sitting comfortably on her crimson sofa, reading a recipe book called ‘Elvish Delights’. She was reading it not only for the recipes but for the story as well, as each recipe had its own tale and how it came to being. She found that extremely interesting, the history behind the flavors providing a brief escape from the recent tension. Suddenly, there was a heavy knock at the door that echoed through the house, shattering the fragile peace of the morning.

  Who could it be? Kriss was busy yet again and Uncle was upstairs together with Adam. She put the book aside and stood up, taking a pace to find out for herself. Her crimson dress trailed along the floor as she walked, the fabric sweeping softly across the surface and trailing slightly behind her with every step. The heavy knocking did not stop. It felt impatient, even demanding, vibrating through the wood and into her very bones. She felt a slight prickle of unease, a cold needle of intuition, as she reached for the handle.

  She opened the door, a heavy thud accompanying the motion as the weight of the air from outside pushed inward. Standing before her were three men of different postures, yet each one of them was dressed elegantly in robes that screamed of their high standing. The fabric of their attire seemed to absorb the light of the hallway, casting a predatory shadow over the threshold. She felt a slight surprise, assuming that maybe they simply wanted to talk with Berto, as he was of high standing as well. The one at the front smiled at her, though the expression did not reach his eyes, which remained as cold as a winter frost.

  “Good Morning, Ma’am. We are on our way regarding the last slums accident and were tasked with checking for any potential in the middle district by King’s Decree while at that.”

  “Oh, I see, but our Adam has already been checked.” She said with a tremor of uncertainty, as she did not want to cause offense to men of such standing. The authority they carried felt like a physical pressure, a cloying weight making the hallway feel smaller than it was.

  She could see that their gaze changed in intensity at her response, becoming sharper and more probing, as if they were trying to peel back the layers of her thoughts with invisible scalpels.

  “By whom was he checked?” the lead mage asked.

  She felt the need to answer quickly, the silence of the street behind them feeling unnaturally heavy, as if the world itself were holding its breath. “By Lord Ander.”

  The mages exchanged silent, meaningful glances between them. The one at the front continued, his expression unreadable and cold. “I understand, but our Kingdom was not notified about it. We will have to check again ourselves to ensure the records are complete. Consistency is required in these times.”

  Caitlyn nodded, though a seed of worry began to take root in her chest, a cold sensation that mirrored the lethal aura of the men before her. “I will go wake up Adam and bring him downstairs together with his Master.”

  She found herself wondering why Uncle Berto had not notified the Kingdom as the rules required, or why these men seemed so intent on checking Adam’s potential personally. There was a sense of urgency in their presence that went beyond mere bureaucracy, a scent of blood beneath the perfume of nobility. Her train of thought was interrupted when she heard the echo of footsteps approaching from upstairs. Uncle must have heard the commotion and woken him up. That was good.

  BERTO’S POV:

  He walked with Adam downstairs, their steps echoing heavily on the wooden floor like the rhythmic thumping of a funeral drum. His mind was occupied with what would happen in a moment, calculating every variable with clinical precision. Berto could feel the heavy presence of the mages even before he saw them, a sharp, metallic tang in the mana that saturated the air, just as they could undoubtedly feel his and Adam’s.

  He looked upon his precious disciple, and dark thoughts made his stomach churn. The boy looked terrible, showing the clear evidence of the long night and the dream that had reappeared, his face a pale mask of exhaustion. But it did not matter at the moment. Berto was already thinking about how to kill the three mages. He would have to be quick, striking them when they least expected it, cutting through their arrogance before they could react. He would try to flee with Adam and his mother immediately after.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He was not sure where to go yet. He felt a sharp pang of pity for Kriss, knowing he did not have the time to search for him and would have to leave him behind in the rot. It was a choice between survival and sentiment, a brutal calculus he had performed many times before. He had to do what he could. They would probably lose this fight, but he preferred to die fighting than to give up without a struggle.

  His gaze turned to Adam, who was walking just beside him, completely lost in his own thoughts. The boy looked exhausted, but they could blame it on his breakthrough that night, a convenient lie in a world built on them. There was still a flicker of hope lingering in Berto that Adam would be able to pull the trick off, sparing them from the worst case scenario.

  As they reached the ground floor, he saw them. The pompous bastards. Dogs of the King and his nobility. They were dressed in silver hued robes with sigils pinned upon them, signifying their rank in the military, the metal glinting with a cold, unforgiving light. He did not recognize them; they were not from any prominent family. One peak Tier 2 occupied the position of Major, and next to him were two Captains who were somewhere in the middle of the same Tier. Killing them would be hard, a dance on the edge of a blade, but it had to be done if the secret was out.

  They exchanged gazes, and the pressure in the room intensified, the very air becoming stagnant and thick. Not yet, Berto told himself, his will becoming a coiled spring. He smiled faintly and spoke. “What brings you here, Lords?”

  The silence stretched for a moment, a predatory stillness, before their leader responded. “We are on our way towards the slums on the King’s Decree, and we are to search the middle district for any potential. Which brings me to a question. Why did you not register the boy’s potential, Lord Ander?”

  There was a smile on the Major’s face that did not reach his eyes. His gaze shifted heavily between Berto and Adam, a cold calculation hidden behind his pupils.

  “Oh, pardon me. I got lost in teaching the boy and forgot about it. I was supposed to go there tomorrow. His potential is just as ours, Tier 2. You do not have to worry about checking it; I will register it myself tomorrow.”

  The atmosphere between them grew so dense that it felt as if it could be cut with a knife. The Major’s smile vanished as he responded, his gaze now solely focused on Adam, searching for any ripple in the boy’s composure.

  “You know we cannot have that. We can overlook your mistake, but we will check it for ourselves and register it here.”

  His voice was decisive, leaving no room for argument. Berto stopped his hand from grasping his robes, an action that would have betrayed his inner turmoil, his knuckles itching for the feel of mana.

  “Go on then.”

  The mages nodded among themselves, and their leader pulled out a Magic Stone from beneath his robes.

  “Come, boy.”

  The Major’s gaze lingered heavily on Adam. The boy walked toward the mage, his steps echoing silently on the wooden floor. A complete, suffocating silence filled the house as he grasped the stone and closed his eyes. Berto braced himself, his entire being ready for the eruption of violence that would follow if the stone turned white.

  ADAM’S POV:

  Change. Perhaps it meant exactly this moment. He had to change the trick to avoid death, or something far worse. Maybe the dream was a warning, a silent and helpful message from the mysterious being that had cast it upon him. As he grasped the extremely familiar Magic Stone, he began to think, his mind working with a frantic, cold clarity. The original trick would not work, he knew it. He was exhausted, and even in peak condition, it would have been impossible to pull off the maneuver at his current level. Guiding the mana to return at the exact right moment required more than he had left.

  What if he did something else instead? Instead of abruptly trying to change the flow, he would slowly guide it to grow weaker. He would corrupt it slowly with his will, like a poison seeping into a stream.

  He closed his eyes and soon felt a slight tremor as the mana started to flow through his body, probing for his potential like a blind, hungry parasite. He slowly merged his will with it, but instead of trying to stop it or fight against it, he began to build a tame, subduing the energy as it moved. The mana returned, marking him as Tier 1 potential for the moment, and then the next wave came. He focused, pulling his willpower to its full extent and decaying the wave yet again. He could feel it getting slower and weaker as it passed through him. It put a strain upon him, a searing weight in his chest, though it was much lighter than the resistance required to stop it completely in one moment.

  It was working for now.

  The third wave soon arrived. The final one. This was the moment of culmination that would either kill him or prove his success. If he was not able to pull it off, he was ready to become the dog of the King. He would do it just so his parents and master could live. He put his whole being into strengthening his pull on the mana, his will becoming a decaying filter. He could feel the wave grow extremely weak, straining under his will just as he did.

  Suddenly, he heard a crack inside him, but it did not come from his body. It came from the mana passing through him as it reached the midway point, a structural failure of the energy itself. The Magic Stone produced a bright orange light that warmly lit his face. He smiled faintly as he saw it.

  He had done it. He had hidden his potential. For now.