Silas found himself in the village church, facing Sister Lucia. Everything felt strangely familiar, yet intrinsically different.

  —Hello, Silas —Sister Lucia greeted him—. I thought we would meet much later, but some things have changed.

  Silas, filled with doubt, wondered what she meant. As if reading his thoughts, Sister Lucia replied: —Silas, I know you have many questions. The first thing is that I am not Sister Lucia, and we are not in the church.

  She explained that this was a dream, and that her figure was a representation of Silas's Scholar ability. His own brain had chosen this familiar form to make it easier for him to process.

  —Silas, the visions you have had are memories of the life you were destined to live —the dream figure continued—. A sad life. You were granted a new opportunity, and I am here to help you.

  With a graver tone, she added: —I cannot give you all the answers, because your memories are sealed within your mind. It is dangerous for the memories of an entire lifetime to invade your mind uncontrollably; you wouldn't be able to process them and you would go mad. Unfortunately, these memories reacted with Andros's Ether, and well, I am here to explain what is happening. You will live your past life up to the age of fifteen, which is the maximum you can process without major side effects. These memories will largely remain, but as you grow, they will begin to blend with those of your new life.

  Silas asked with apprehension: —Will it hurt?

  —No, not at all —the figure of Sister Lucia replied—, but it will be strange.

  Silas began to process his memories. It all started with Sister Lucia telling him he was a Scholar. Silas felt a pang of sadness at not being able to go with Roque outside the city, but he kept the faith that, if he tried hard, he could get into a good Scholar academy to travel with Roque in the future.

  His memories played out like a movie in fast-forward, jumping fluidly from scene to scene: Silas was playing with other boys and girls from the village. —Guys, let's go play after class —he told them.

  —I can't, Silas, I have to study —one responded—. Don't you know how bad it is to be a Scholar? You should do the same as us.

  —Sister Lucia, why is it bad to be a Scholar? —Silas asked her while helping move some benches in the church.

  —It's not bad, Silas, or at least in Lampone it isn't noticed as much. But in the cities, they don't fare so well. I would prefer you stay in the village, my little Scholar —she told him while ruffling his hair.

  In the Scholar classroom, there were more than fifteen students, and everyone had to listen to the professor's channeling instructions. —Students, when you manage to channel Cognis you will be able to think faster and with more exactitude, although not everyone will have the same skills depending on the subject. Some will be better at mathematics, others at chemistry, or even the arts —said the professor.

  Silas accompanied Sister Lucia in church tasks and spent most of the day at the general school. There, most of the children his age were Scholars, although there were also some Molders and Legionaries. In the general Scholar classes, he was taught about the different types of Scholars and Primordial Energy. The latter were the most difficult, as Primordial Energy was not easy for the newly baptized to process; it was like trying to drink water with a sieve.

  One day, Silas had escaped from one of the many Scholar classes and stumbled upon a Legionary class. The Legionary professors were the soldiers guarding the village, a simple task given that the village was far from the city and any vein of Primordial Energy, which minimized dangers beyond the occasional wild animal. Since Silas didn't like the theoretical Scholar classes, from time to time, he would sneak into the Legionary classes.

  ?Maybe I could specialize as a Battle Scholar, that way I could leave the village more easily?, he thought. He had the hope that, if he understood something about combat, he could specialize as a Battle Scholar.

  Silas noticed that the Legionary classes focused mostly on physical exercise and combat systems, and very little on Ether channeling. However, the way the Legionaries channeled caught his attention: a professor named Richard gave them simple indications about bodily sensations —contraction, relaxation, heart rate, temperature increase—, while those of the Scholars were very diffuse: "attract the energy with your mind", "mind here and mind there… blah, blah, blah", Silas thought with the voice of his professors.

  Silas thought it would be easier if there were something similar for Scholars. And then, he had an idea: in his theoretical studies, he had heard that the brain controls motor functions. He decided to try channeling Cognis while doing push-ups, focusing his mind only on the sensation and fatigue of those muscles. Suddenly, he felt that he was beginning to understand Cognis. His brain began to adjust the distance of his hands, the body's center of gravity, and the position of his feet to make the exercise more efficient. —I get it! That was how you channeled Cognis! —he shouted in happiness.

  The days, weeks, and months passed. Silas continued with his own system while escaping classes, taking the opportunity to exercise his body and improve his channeling capacity. Over the months, he realized that having a good physique made his brain work better.

  Additionally, he started attending other classes more and more, such as those of Don Alfonse, the village Molder. His classes were entertaining and he could do things related to problem-solving through theoretical construction. At some point, he ended up having classes with a girl he already knew, his Molder friend. Images of them talking with Don Alfonse, Silas holding hands with her, a flash of fire in the air, and the girl's voice: "Silas, I have to leave the village".

  In the middle of all this, a memory slipped in: the image of his body burning as if it were on fire, exuding a thick aura from his muscles. It was a sensation he had already felt when he was younger...

  His memories ended, and Silas returned to the church, facing Sister Lucia, but now his body was about 10 to 15 centimeters taller.

  —Hello, Silas —Sister Lucia greeted him—. My idea was for you to have memories of several years, but I could only manage the first year. The other two got somewhat scrambled by a memory from much further in the future. You will process the remaining years as things happen that remind you of what you lived up to age fifteen. This new opportunity to be happy... the idea is that you use it however you want.

  At that moment, Silas closed his eyes, but the image of the church remained as an internal conversation in his mind. Between Sister Lucia and a warrior covered in blood, the latter said to her with a cold, dry voice: —Why didn't you let me take control?

  Sister Lucia replied: —We already had our chance and accomplished what we wanted. Let him make his own decisions now.

  Silas opened his eyes abruptly. He wasn't in his bed, but in the shaking interior of a carriage. It was incredibly strange. He remembered going to sleep in his room, like every afternoon after exercising and secretly practicing Cognis channeling, taking advantage of the free time from his classes at the village school. Now, his head felt like it wanted to explode; his memories were intertwining in a chaotic whirlwind.

  The memory of his Baptism as a Scholar mixed with another where they told him he was a Legionary; a memory of Legionaries arriving at the village to look for him overlapped with him arriving at the general school of the village; the attack of Mana Beasts connected with a professor explaining the nature of those creatures, and Andros, teaching him a Legionary combat style, was interspersed with a village guard showing the same movements to the Legionary students. Everything was a confusing vortex until the voice of Sister Lucia, resonating from his dream, broke through: "These are the memories of how my life was supposed to be."

  Suddenly, the ideas and fragments ordered themselves in his mind. Silas understood that he had experienced three years of the life of his other self, his past self, in that timeline. In that life, he had reached fifteen years of age, and his body was taller. Now, upon waking, his own twelve-year-old stature felt suddenly shrunken, as if his mind, accustomed to the fifteen-year-old body, had suddenly found itself trapped in a smaller one. A sensation of physical disorientation was added to the mental avalanche. He understood that, in that other reality, he was now going to the Legionary academy with Andros and Ronny. With a maturity unusual for his age, Silas reflected: —So this awaited me if I had stayed in the village... It wasn't a bad life either. But this one has to be even better.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Conscious of the strange sensation in his muscles and the discordance of his own stature, Silas tried to channel Arcane energy. It was like riding a bicycle again; the skill is not forgotten. He started to analyze his own body and realized something unheard of: he had a heart that was producing energy. It was a warm energy: Ichor. He remembered from his Scholar classes that Ichor manifested with sensations of heat, reported by those healed by Devouts or by those who drank potions blessed by them.

  The implication hit him: he was a Scholar, but also a Devout? According to the books, that was impossible. This thought left him stunned for a moment. Then, his mind jumped to another inconsistency: the Baptism machine had cataloged him as a Legionary, but his body didn't feel the characteristic electrifying sensation of Ether, the one the Legionary professors always described. The inconsistency of his situation left him perplexed. He didn't fit into any of the known boxes, and the idea of that 90% Ether was, in his mind, completely unlikely.

  Andros's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. From the mouth of the carriage, he called him: —We have arrived in the city. —Andros looked at him a bit more closely and frowned—. Eh, kid? Is something wrong? Are you okay?

  Silas struggled to sound normal. —Yes, yes. I just had a very, very vivid dream.

  Andros scrutinized him for an instant, a note of worry barely perceptible in his gaze. ?This kid... with that anomalous reading and now this. Maybe I went too far last night with that Ether aura, I must have scared him more than I thought?, Andros reflected to himself. Then he nodded. —You and Ronny will go eat something at Mrs. Estella's inn. I will arrive a little later, I have some matters I must attend to.

  Ronny left the carriage at the Legionary base and accompanied Silas toward the inn. Ronny watched him, noting a strange maturity in his friend. ?Well, a Mana Beast almost killed him, he found out he channels Ether at twelve is dangerous, and that damn Andros scared him... Maybe that made him change his attitude?, thought Ronny.

  With a smile, he flexed a bicep and pointed the direction: —Estella's inn is over there.

  Silas laughed, although the laughter felt strange, forced by the avalanche of information. He had too many things in his head. He decided to prioritize: the memories and his new energies would be left aside for now, because they were a done deal about which he could do nothing. But what caused him the most unease was that he wasn't a Legionary and, most importantly, he didn't have that 90% Ether efficiency percentage, which, in his mind, was ridiculous and unreal.

  Upon arriving at the inn, a murmur of voices filled the air. Silas heard a man, at a nearby table, say to another with disdain: —Why do they let Scholars in here? —referring to other customers.

  From another table, a more experienced-looking fellow interrupted him with a low voice, almost a friendly whisper, but with an implicit warning: —I can tell you're new here. You'd better not make those comments. General Andros frequents this place, and believe me, you don't want to make him angry.

  At the end of the hall, at the reception, Estella was waiting. At first glance, Silas noticed that she was a woman of over sixty, below average height. Her black hair framed a face with a toasted complexion that, even from a distance, radiated undeniable warmth and kindness. The way she smiled, the soft curve of her eyes, everything about her conveyed a silent welcome.

  —Hello, Ronny. Who is the boy?

  Ronny replied, with a tone that made clear the pride and respect: —This kid is named Silas. He was baptized as a Legionary with ninety percent channeling efficiency, and well, they gave us the mission to escort him.

  —Us? —asked Estella, raising an eyebrow.

  —Yes, Andros is coming too, but he will take a little longer to arrive —explained Ronny.

  Estella sighed with a weariness mixed with some anger. —What fight is Andros getting into now?

  Silas, curious, asked why she spoke of Andros like that. Estella told him that "when Andros was at the academy, he was always involved in some fight. Whether because someone wanted to challenge him to see if he could withstand more than one hit, or because he heard someone speaking ill of Scholars. Now I don't see him much, but I always remember him as that scrappy kid". Estella added a piece of advice with a serious look: —Never say anything bad about Scholars in front of him.

  Estella brought them some plates with the specialty of the day. Silas, upon tasting it, found it so delicious that it seemed incredible that simple vegetables and some meat could taste so good. Estella, seeing his expression, smiled. —My secret is love.

  Ronny, while eating with enthusiasm, added: —Love and being an expert Liquid Molder specialized in cooking.

  Estella gave him a gentle hit on the head, saying in a low voice: —What have I told you about saying that!

  Ronny, with a sheepish face, muttered: —Ah, it's true, I'm sorry, Mrs. Estella.

  While they ate, Ronny leaned toward Silas, with a conspiratorial smile. —Mrs. Estella —he began—, is an incredible chef. You know? Nobles and even royalty have tried to hire her as their personal cook. —He made a dramatic pause—. But Estella always rejects them. She says it's because she has never liked the way of being of the nobility, royalty, or people who discriminate against Scholars.

  Ronny continued, his voice lowering a bit as if sharing a secret: —The real reason for her rejection is her mother, who taught her to cook. She was a Scholar and was the one who created many of the recipes that Estella, with her own ability, was able to improve until converting them into what they are today. —Ronny gestured with his head toward the hall—. That's why General Andros always stays at this inn, because Estella also dislikes all that system that discriminates against Scholars for something that happened hundreds of years ago.

  While Ronny and Silas ate with enthusiasm at the inn, Andros, on the other hand, found himself in a very different situation. He was in an ostentatious room, a mixture of luxury and brutality. Fine fabrics and sculptures adorned the walls, making a surprising contrast with stuffed heads of giant animals, their horns and claws like hunting trophies.

  An elderly man, whose snow-white hair suggested sixty or even seventy years, was waiting for him. However, the shoulders and torso guessed under his impeccable smooth black suit, splashed with gold military-style insignias, betrayed a surprising strength for his appearance.

  —Hello, Andros. Long time no see. What brings you to the academy? —the man greeted with a condescending, almost honeyed tone.

  Andros replied with a dry voice, allowing no formalities: —Cut the crap, Lenio.

  —Director Lenio to you —retorted Lenio, his voice instantly losing the fake kindness.

  Lenio, in his ceaseless search to develop the "one-man army", saw any high Ether percentage as an opportunity, an objective he felt he had achieved with Andros, whom unfortunately he had not been able to handle.

  —I brought the boy, Silas... —Andros began, but Lenio interrupted him with poorly concealed joy.

  —Ah, the ninety percent boy.

  A shadow hardened Andros's face. —His name is Silas, and I want to make something very clear to you: I don't want you to do the same to him as you did to me.

  Lenio smiled, a cold grimace that didn't reach his eyes. —That doesn't depend on you, General.

  In that instant, a sensation of heaviness began to extend through the room. The air became dense, as if an invisible pressure were crushing it. Andros advanced slowly toward Lenio, every step deliberate. Lenio, although trying to hide it, gritted his teeth; the effort to stay upright was evident. His breathing became difficult, his lungs felt as if he were underwater, or worse, as if the pressure of the deep ocean were consuming him. It was the same sensation of being trapped under the sea, with a white shark ominously circling around him, waiting for the moment to attack.

  Andros stopped just one step from Lenio, his voice barely a whisper, but loaded with glacial poison. —If I find out that anyone from the laboratory laid a finger on him... —the Ether pressure intensified, suffocating—, I will become Andros, the Crimson Demon, once again.

  The threat, pronounced with a chilling calm, froze Lenio's blood.

  Hours later, Andros arrived at Estella's inn. The woman received him with a tired sigh, but a genuine smile, her dark eyes already knowing the answer before he spoke.

  —From what I see, it seems you went to the academy to 'chat' with someone important... —Estella commented, shaking her head while extending a steaming cup of herbal tea. Her eyes, full of experience, rested on Andros and saw the persistent tension in his jaw, a clear vestige of the displeasure of the encounter—. You know you worry me, Andros. You always get into these things.

  Andros took the cup, the comforting warmth in his hands. He let himself fall into the chair in front of her, a rare moment of relaxation in his usually tense countenance. —Academy matters, Estella. You know how it is. And you, how are you doing with the ingredients for the Tuesday stew?

  —Don't change the subject, young man —Estella scolded him affectionately, although her lips formed a smile—. I am not as blind as you think. That look in your eyes doesn't lie; you went to look for a fight at the academy... but it seems it is for a noble reason.

  Then, her gaze turned to Silas, who had already finished eating and was listening with curiosity. Her expression softened with a note of deep concern. —I just hope the boy Silas doesn't have to live the cruelty of the academy, the things they made you go through for... the good of the kingdom.

  Andros nodded, his face hardened by the implicit promise. —I will make sure that doesn't happen, Estella. I swear. —He stood up, his general bearing returning—. Tomorrow morning we will go to the academy. It is time for him to meet his new home.

  —And you, rest a little. You always worry too much —she added.

  —Someone has to do it, don't you think? —Andros replied, a soft smile on his lips.