"You'd do that?"
"I've spent forty years watching the Tower turn into something I don't recognize." Vasir's voice was flat. "If destroying my career prevents them from colonizing another world, yes. I'd do that."
There was a weight to his words—not heroism, but exhausted conviction. He wasn't a revolutionary. He was a scientist who'd reached the point where not acting would be a greater moral failure than the consequences of action.
"I hope it doesn't come to that," I said.
"So do I. Which is why you need to train faster." Vasir walked to the blackboards, erasing the morning's equations. "The sixty-day extension gives us room to work, but we need measurable progress for the next review. The Council needs to see you advancing from 'assisted success' to 'independent competence.'"
"What's the training plan?"
Vasir began writing on the clean blackboard:
Days 35-50: Master Fire-Water-Earth combinations
Days 50-65: Acquire Air Core (hunting expedition)
Days 65-80: Integrate Air Core, develop bypass pathways
Days 80-95: Second Resonance Catalyst (capacity → 1,300 units)
Day 95: Council Review #2 (request 90-day extension)
"Air Core," I read. "Why is that the priority?"
"Because your Dead Zone is becoming a structural liability, even though it is a scientific wonder." Vasir pointed to my left shoulder, where the obsidian-black tissue was visible beneath my shirt. "That entire region has zero nerve conductivity. Your reaction time on the left side is around forty percent slower than your right. In combat, that's fatal."
He drew a diagram of my nervous system—showing the gap where signals should flow but couldn't.
"Air aspect represents flow and speed," Vasir explained. "We're going to use it to create neural bypass pathways—routes for signals to jump over the Dead Zone. Think of it like... electrical wiring around a broken circuit."
"Will that restore sensation?"
"No. The Dead Zone is permanent nerve death. But it will restore reaction speed. You won't feel the left arm, but you'll be able to move it as fast as your right."
It was a patch, not a cure. But at this point, I'd take anything.
"Where do I hunt for an Air Core?" I asked.
Vasir pulled out a map—a parchment showing the regions surrounding Orizon. He pointed to a mountain range north of the city, peaks that rose into cloudbanks.
"The Shrieking Peaks," Vasir said. "Home to Storm Raptors—avian monsters that live in permanent hurricane conditions. They're Tier 3 equivalent, fast, aggressive, and their cores are pure Air-aspect."
He met my eyes.
"They're also the most dangerous hunt you've attempted. The Behemoth was slow, durable—you could outsmart it. The Frost Stalker was powerful but predictable. Storm Raptors are fast. Faster than your current reaction speed. If you go up there with your left-side handicap, you'll die in the first engagement."
"So what's the solution?"
"Training," Vasir said simply. "For the next fifteen days, we focus on speed-compensating techniques. Predictive positioning, environmental traps, anything that lets you prepare for combat rather than reacting in real-time."
He pulled out a stopwatch—a mechanical device that ticked with metronomic precision.
"Your current reaction time, right hand to target: point-two-five seconds. Left hand: point-four seconds. For Storm Raptors, anything over point-one-five seconds is death. We have fifteen days to cut your time in half."
"Is that possible?"
"For a normal mage? No." Vasir's smile was grim. "For someone carrying whatever's helping you process information faster than any student I've seen? Maybe."
I tried to stay calm and not show emotions.
"We start tomorrow," Vasir continued. "Today, you rest. Your body just went through six days of deliberately failing, which is more exhausting than actual training. Sleep. Eat. Meditate. Tomorrow, we see if your 'adaptive pathways' can make you fast enough to survive."
I spent the rest of Day 35 in a state of enforced rest that felt more like house arrest.
Vasir had given me access to a small chamber adjacent to his workshop—a sleeping cell with a cot, a desk, and a narrow window that looked out over Orizon's lower districts. The view was of industrial sectors I'd never seen from the upper Tower: smokestacks, foundries, the grinding machinery that kept the magical city running.
I sat at the desk and pulled out both training journals—the fake one for Council review, and my private notes stored in the Library.
Official Journal (Day 35):
BREAKTHROUGH ACHIEVED After 6 days of failure, Instructor Vasir identified contamination-induced phase delay in aspect resonance. Modified training sphere with compensatory runes allowed successful Fire-Water integration. Success Rate: 100% (1/1 attempts with modified sphere) Mana Cost: 65 units (within acceptable parameters) Next Steps: Practice integration until technique stabilizes Instructor Assessment (Vasir): "Significant progress. Hero is trainable but requires specialized equipment due to contamination patterns. Recommend 60-day extension for stabilization."
Private Notes (Library Storage):
Day 35: The Performance Reality Check: - Can split spheres with 95%+ success unassisted - Modified sphere is theatrical prop, not functional tool - Vasir's "contamination theory" is cover story - Council believes I'm dependent on tools; truth is opposite .Actual Capability Assessment: Fire-Water Integration: MASTERED - Thermal Shock: 85% success on dragon scale - Hydraulic Scalpel: 90% precision - Thermal Cascade: Self-sustaining Current Weakness: LEFT SIDE REACTION TIME - Right hand: 0.25 seconds - Left hand: 0.40 seconds (60% slower) - Dead Zone = combat liability Next Priority: Air Core acquisition Timeline: 15 days preparation, then hunt Risk: High (Storm Raptors faster than my current ability) Philosophical Note: I'm becoming very good at lying. To the Council, to Akhtar, even to Vasir (by omission). The Stone remains my only true secret. How long can I maintain this? Answer: 865 more Avulum days. 28.5 Earth days. No room for failure.
I closed the journal and looked at the chronometer:
Avulum: Day 35, Hour 14
Earth: Day 1, Hour 4
Twenty-eight hours since the gates opened. Just over one full day.
I pulled up the surveillance feeds Vasir had given me access to—a small crystalline screen that showed rotating views of Earth's major combat zones.
My city: The fires in the port were finally under control. I could see emergency crews moving through rubble. The military perimeter had expanded—safe zones were growing. There was even a field hospital visible, treating wounded.
They were adapting.
Tokyo: The Greater Behemoth was still in Times Square, but it had stopped moving. The creature was conserving energy, staying near the gate that fed it mana. Human forces had established a perimeter at 500 meters—far enough to avoid the Behemoth's immediate threat, close enough to contain it.
London: Smaller monsters (hounds, imps) were being systematically hunted. I watched as a military squad used flamethrowers to clear a building. The creatures, weakened by mana-starvation, died like normal animals.
Paris: A new gate had opened in the last six hours. Fresh monsters pouring through, but the city had evacuated the zone preemptively. The French military was conducting a controlled burn—letting the monsters spread into an empty district, then firebombing the entire area.
Twenty-eight hours in, and Earth was learning.
But the mana saturation was rising. The monsters were growing stronger. The window of vulnerability wouldn't last.
I switched off the feed before the guilt could paralyze me.
Every hour of training = 2.4 Earth minutes
Every day of delay = 48 Earth minutes
Every failure = seconds I'd never get back
But rushing would get me killed. And a dead "Hero" would save exactly no one.
The equation balanced on a knife's edge.
I pulled out a blank page and began writing—not training notes, but a letter I'd probably never send:
Dad, Mom, It's been 28 hours since I left. For you, anyway. For me, it's been 35 days. I know that doesn't make sense. Time moves differently here. Every month I spend training, you experience one day of war. I'm learning to kill people. Efficiently, precisely, in ways that look like accidents. I'm learning to split armor, boil blood, turn bone to sand. This isn't what you hoped for when you said "achieve your dream." But maybe you were right about one thing: sometimes bad things turn into blessings. The monsters that invaded are weaker on Earth than here. You have time. Not much, but enough for me to become strong enough to end this. I'm coming back. Tier 4, maybe Tier 5 if I can survive the compressions. Strong enough to close the gates. Strong enough to kill anything that came through. I don't know if you're alive. The surveillance feeds don't show individuals, just large-scale movements. But I have to believe you are. That you're fighting. That you're surviving. Because if I lose that belief, I don't know if I can keep training. 28 hours for you. 35 days for me. 865 days left before I come home. Hold on, please. I'm becoming something that can save you. Even if you wouldn't recognize what I've become.
I folded the letter and stored it in the Library—a private memorial to the person I used to be.
Then I lay down on the cot and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I would begin training to be fast.
Today, I allowed myself to remember being human.