“So,” Ray said, watching in mild disbelief as a porcelain teapot tilted itself with filled his floating cup with precision, “why exactly are we here?”

  The teapot righted itself, its lid clicking with a sound that felt suspiciously like a huff of indignation, before drifting away.

  Elaine didn’t look up from the three ledgers hovering in front of her like transparent shields. “We are here because I need to catch up with my business,” she replied, her voice level and cool. “The Academy has been wasting my time.”

  Ray nearly choked on his tea. Wasting her time?

  He looked at the self-organizing shelves, the enchanted needles, and the quiet, relentless efficiency of the room. The Academy was supposed to be the peak of scholarship—the place where the Empire’s future was forged. People literally killed for a seat in those lecture halls.

  “Then why go at all?” Ray asked, setting his cup down as it floated within reach.

  “Because my father wishes it,” she said matter-of-factly, finally flicking a page of the ledger with a ghost-like gesture. “The Academy has its uses—networking, prestige, access to certain restricted archives. But for me, being there is like being in a cage. I am bored, Ray. There is simply nothing to do.”

  Ray watched her eyes dart across the glowing figures. To everyone else, the Academy was a challenge. To her, it was a grandmaster being forced to play tutorials with children.

  While Ray sat there processing that uncomfortable thought, Niva and Alden darted past. Laughter echoed as they chased clusters of glowing bubbles drifting near the ceiling. The bubbles shifted from sapphire to gold to violet, stretching into the shapes of tiny animals before popping into harmless sparkles.

  Niva squealed as a bubble turned into a tiny glowing dragon that "roared" before vanishing. Alden immediately demanded a bigger one. Without breaking her focus on the ledgers, Elaine flicked a finger. The air shimmered, obliging the boy's request.

  Ray watched the scene—the floating books, the working tools, the casual mastery of the environment—and felt a cold drop of sweat slide down his neck. This wasn’t a shop visit. This was Elaine’s real laboratory.

  If she’s this far ahead… how far behind am I?

  Ray needed the data. He needed to know exactly what kind of monster he was sitting across from.

  “Analyze.”

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  STATUS — TARGET ANALYZED

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  NAME: Elaine Avery

  AGE: 14

  LEVEL: 7

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  HP: 40/40

  STM: 25/25

  ATTRIBUTES

  STR: 9

  AGI: 11

  VIT: 8

  DEX: 10

  INT: 190

  WIS: 120

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  Ray’s eyes darted across the empty air between them. He was scanning her stats with vigor.

  "scanned" wasn't a strong enough word. His brain felt like a computer trying to divide by zero. Her physical stats had risen incrementally—a point here, a point there—the standard growth for a cadet.

  But the mental stats? They hadn't climbed. They had leapt.

  Thirty points in Intelligence. Fifty in Wisdom.

  That wasn’t growth. That was accumulation. That was someone stacking experience like compound interest in a high-yield account. That was the stat spread of an Archmage disguised in the body of a fourteen-year-old girl.

  Ray slowly lowered the invisible screen, his pulse ticking faster. It wasn't just "talent" anymore. This was something else. While he was out in the woods fighting for his life, Elaine was in here, quietly rewriting the laws of the world and gaining the "XP" for it.

  That’s not normal, Ray thought, his grip tightening on his tea cup. Not for a cadet. Not for anyone.

  He looked at Elaine again, but she just continued her work, the soft glow of her "business" reflecting in her eyes. She was a raid boss in the making, and Ray was the only one who could see the health bar.

  Elaine smiled. It wasn't smug or teasing; it was warm—a look that felt far more dangerous than her cold mask.

  “Are you having a good read?” she asked lightly.

  The words hit Ray sideways. His gaze dropped, and his breath caught in his throat. The book she had given him—On Outsider Reasoning in Established Systems—was open in his hands, the pages spread as if he’d been deep in the text.

  When did I even open this? Ray thought, panic flaring. He snapped it shut a little too fast.

  “Oh—ah,” Ray said, shifting his grip. “I opened it, but I haven't really started yet. I’ll get to it after the festival. Right now is supposed to be for fun, right?”

  Elaine’s smile didn’t change, but her eyes lingered on his face for a fraction of a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Of course,” she said. “Fun is important.”

  Ray nodded, relieved but deeply unsettled. He felt like he’d just barely passed a test he hadn't known he was taking.

  An elderly man shuffled in through a side door, his arms straining under a heavy stack of ledgers. He set them down with a soft, authoritative thud. “Young lady,” he said respectfully. “The ledgers from the past three years, as requested.”

  Ray blinked. Three years? That was practically the entire time Elaine had been in the academy.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Elaine glanced at the stack. “It shouldn't take long. I only review and approve; the assistants handle the day-to-day.”

  Ray let out a quiet sigh of relief. Good. I’m not stuck here all day. But as Elaine began to flip through the pages with terrifying speed, Ray found himself searching for something to do with his hands. That was when he noticed the newspaper folded among the delivered paperwork.

  ESCAPED MASS KILLER AT LARGE — PUBLIC WARNED

  By Order of the Imperial Office of Civic Security

  The Empire has issued an immediate public warning following the confirmed escape of Orren Kest, a convicted mass murderer and former detainee of the Blackstone Holding Cells.

  Orren Kest, age estimated between thirty-five and forty, was last seen three nights ago during a scheduled transfer between fortified detention sites. According to official reports, the escort detail was found deceased, with signs of severe violence inconsistent with ordinary weaponry. No survivors remain to provide a firsthand account of the escape.

  Kest is described as gaunt, pale, and hollow-eyed, standing of average height with a pronounced stoop. Witness sketches depict him with close-cropped dark hair, sunken cheeks, and a fixed, unsettling stare. Citizens are advised that his appearance may vary, as Kest is known to alter his clothing, posture, and demeanor to avoid recognition.

  Convicted six years ago, Orren Kest was responsible for a series of coordinated killings across three border provinces. His crimes included the slaughter of entire households, roadside ambushes, and the ritualistic execution of travelers along lesser-patrolled trade routes. Official counts attribute no fewer than forty-seven confirmed deaths to his actions, though investigators suspect the true number may be significantly higher.

  What distinguishes Kest from common criminals is not only the scale of his violence, but its methodical precision. Imperial investigators noted that Kest displayed no signs of panic or emotional instability during his crimes. Victims were selected deliberately. Scenes were left orderly. In several cases, valuables were untouched, suggesting motives beyond robbery.

  Despite extensive interrogation, Kest never confessed to his crimes, nor did he offer explanation or justification. Records indicate he spoke rarely, often remaining silent for days at a time. When he did speak, his statements were described as “detached” and “philosophical,” raising concerns among interrogators that Kest viewed his actions as experiments rather than crimes.

  The circumstances of his escape remain under investigation. Officials have declined to comment on rumors of internal sabotage or external assistance, stating only that “the matter is being handled at the highest levels.”

  Citizens are strongly advised not to approach anyone suspected of being Orren Kest. He is considered extremely dangerous, armed, and capable of lethal force without warning. Any sightings should be reported immediately to local guards, knights, or imperial authorities.

  In response to the escape, patrols have been increased along major roads, festival routes, and population centers. Additional security measures will be in place during the Founders Festival.

  The Empire assures its people that Orren Kest will be recaptured.

  Until then, vigilance is advised.

  — Imperial Office of Civic Security, Public Notice

  Ray folded the newspaper, the image of Orren Kest’s hollow eyes burned into his mind. “I hope this man doesn’t go and ruin the festival,” he muttered.

  “Highly unlikely,” Elaine replied, her quill scratching across a ledger without a single hitch.

  Ray glanced at her. “You sound confident.”

  “The Royal Guard is searching high and low,” she said, her tone as cool as mountain water. “He’ll be caught sooner rather than later.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Elaine finally looked at him, one brow lifting in a look that suggested he was asking if water was wet. “I am a Duke’s daughter, Raymond. Gleaning information from the Palace is child’s play for us. The security cordon is absolute.”

  Ray winced. Right. Of course. He keeps forgetting that while he’s playing a survival game, she’s playing a grand strategy sim.

  “Stop worrying about simple things,” Elaine continued, already done with the topic. She reached into her satchel and withdrew a heavy, ivory-colored envelope, pressing it into his hand. The wax seal was intricate—a stylized owl wrapped in thorny vines. “Make yourself useful.”

  Ray blinked. “Useful how?”

  “Deliver this to Headmaster Merinth Vallog. His private quarters, back at the Academy.”

  Ray stared at the seal, then back at her. “…During the festival? Right now?”

  “Yes. He will be there, and I want it delivered personally.” Elaine smiled faintly, a expression that never quite reached her calculating eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  And just like that, he was dismissed.

  Ray took off at a jog, his boots striking the cobblestones as he slipped back into the widening streets. The city was transforming. What had been orderly avenues were now overtaken by an explosion of color and sound. Banners in deep blues, golds, and crimsons snapped in the breeze.

  The smell hit him next—a "Gamer's" paradise of buff-providing street food. Spiced meat sizzled on griddles; sweet dough fried in vats of oil; roasted nuts glazed in honey sent clouds of sugary steam into the air.

  He weaved through game booths where youths tested their STR stats with heavy hammers and illusionists conjured ribbons of light to lure in the crowds. It felt alive—not tense, but buzzing with the energy of a world ready to celebrate.

  Ray pressed the letter to his chest and sprinted. The stone fa?ade of the Imperial Academy rose up before him, a silent monolith of authority.

  “Hold,” a guard called.

  Ray skidded to a stop. Two Academy guards stepped forward, spears leveled but not lowered. “State your business.”

  “Delivery for the Headmaster,” Ray panted, holding up the envelope.

  The moment the guard saw the thorny-owl seal, his posture snapped to attention. He didn't even check Ray's ID. “…Ah. One moment.”

  While waiting, Ray caught snippets of their hushed conversation.

  “...Kest slipped through the western cordon last night.” “...Royal Guard’s furious.”

  Ray ignored the spike of anxiety. Don’t worry about simple things, Elaine had said.

  Moments later, a sharp-eyed assistant led Ray through halls he’d never seen—older, heavier parts of the school where the air felt thick with the "mana" of centuries of scholarship. They stopped at a tall wooden door etched with layered sigils of authority.

  It had only been three days since Ray had last stepped foot in the Academy, yet it felt like a lifetime. Just remembering the grueling training and the close calls with his life made him feel a strange, sharp pang of nostalgia. Back on Earth, he’d never cared for school; it was a boring, uneventful backdrop to a life he wasn't really leading. Back there, Nathan had been the main character—the baseball ace, the heartbreaker, the guy the world revolved around.

  But here? In Aetherion? Ray was the one holding the controller. He wasn’t at the level cap yet, and his "build" was still experimental, but he was finally the protagonist of his own story. The journey was the part that actually mattered.

  “Enter,” came a measured, resonant voice.

  Ray stepped into the office of Merinth Vallog. The room was a labyrinth of books and rotating scrolls. Behind a desk scarred by a thousand experiments sat the Headmaster—a man whose gaze felt like a high-level [Analyze] skill hitting Ray all at once.

  “So,” the Headmaster said, folding his hands. “You’re the courier.”

  Ray stepped forward, the ivory envelope feeling strangely heavy. “Yes, sir. From Lady Elaine Avery.”

  Merinth accepted it. As his fingers closed around the seal, the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift. Ray had the distinct feeling that he hadn't just delivered a letter—he had delivered a trigger for whatever was coming next.