The revelation of the dragon's shadow over the Church didn't paralyze me. It acted as a focusing lens, burning away all other distractions. The problem was no longer abstract survival; it was a countdown to a specific, hostile examination by an enemy of my entire species. My defect would be laid bare before them.
Let's think calmly. I still have 3 years. I need to find a solution.
The options were few, each more terrible than the last.
The first thing I thought of was escaping. But escaping is very hard. The estate was a fortress. The world beyond was a mystery. Even if I take the risk the people in the empire will recognise me with my hair. The golden hair of House Theodore was a beacon. I could just cut them all off and escape, but my brothers and sisters know my face. They will try to find me everywhere. I was a valuable asset, or a dangerous secret; either way, they wouldn't let me vanish. I don't know anything beyond the empire. I had maps in my head, but no lived experience, no contacts, no survival skills in the wilds of a super-planet. Also I don't know what punishment they will give to me and how dangerous Ashenveil Forest is. The Forest was the ancient enemy. Fleeing there was choosing a quicker, more monstrous death.
Where will I run off to? There was nowhere. The human lands were under the Church's influence. The non-human lands would kill me on sight. I was trapped.
Maybe I should reject the awakening ceremony… Saying the church is controlled by humanity's enemies. But they would require proof. I cannot just say I read algorithms in books and found out. They will never agree with me. No one will. A six-year-old's paranoid ramblings, based on "codes" in books? They'd lock me away as mad, which might be worse than killing me. And revealing I'd found the hidden library would invite questions I couldn't answer.
Is there anything I could do? I turned the problem over and over in my mind, a knot with no loose ends. No. There isn't anything.
The conclusion was bleak, but it had a clarifying purity. If there was no escape, no clever gambit, then only one path remained.
The only thing I can do is increase my strength.
Not the strength I wished for, but the strength I could actually wield. My body. My mind. My will.
After a few days all of the books in the library were in my mind. The archive was exhausted. I had stolen every secret it contained, from statecraft to sausage-making. Of course I removed unnecessary information from my mind. I mentally archived the trivial, keeping the tactical and historical data readily accessible. The library's usefulness was over.
A final, grander thought occurred. Can I reveal the truth of the church to the world? A public scandal, a broadcast of the hidden algorithm? No. Even if I could, I would fail. I had no platform, no allies, no proof beyond my own memory. Because my father knows the secret. That is why he put the algorithms in the library. The realization was final. The cipher wasn't for me; it was a record, a dangerous heirloom hidden where only a truly determined and clever Theodore might find it. He knew, and he did nothing.
So why didn't he just reveal it to the empire… He must have his reasons. Reasons of power, of strategy, of fearing the dragon's retaliation. The secret was a weapon too dangerous to draw, a stalemate maintained for centuries. My father played a long, cold game on a board I was only beginning to see. I was not a player; I was a piece, and a flawed one at that.
I have 3 years. I will train and train.
The decision forged a new kind of discipline. My training shed its last vestiges of play, of experimentation. It became a grim, industrial process. The goal was no longer "improvement." It was the creation of a living weapon, honed to a lethal edge by the day of my execution.
This time I picked up a sword from the scrapped weapons room. The broken, notched blade was heavy, its balance off. Perfect. It would make a proper sword feel like an extension of my arm. I smuggled it back to my room, hiding it under a loosened floorboard.
From the dojo experience I learned to practice with a sword in days. I remembered the kendo forms—the precise angles, the footwork, the concept of seme (applying pressure). But this was not a sport. I merged those forms with the brutal efficiency I'd studied from military manuals. Thrusts aimed for eyes, throat, armpits. Slashes designed to sever tendons, not clash against armor.
The books spoke of the pinnacle. To become a swordmaster you must become - 'ONE WITH THE SWORD'. Meaning using 100 percent of the sword's potential. And becoming one with it. It's very hard to become one. For Aether-users, this unity was often achieved magically, bonding with a blade, feeling its weight as their own. For me, it had to be purely technical, a perfection of kinematics, of predictive motion, of understanding the sword as a tool so completely that its use required no conscious thought.
Because I don't have any Aether, I must become one. It was my only path to transcending my limits.
Since then I started training regularly with a sword and my body. Dawn until dusk, in the hidden moments, I moved. Drills. Forms. Sparring against shadows on the wall. I practiced until my muscles screamed, then practiced more, burning the movements into my spinal cord. My body, already at the peak for my age, was pushed into new realms of endurance and precision. The child-softness was gone, replaced by corded muscle and a stillness that felt like coiled tension.
But I am nowhere close to being a swordmaster. The gap between knowledge and embodiment was a chasm. I could perform the motions, but the one-ness was a distant star.
My training would slowly intensify as my strength increased. I would use my earthly knowledge of swords and apply here. I incorporated concepts of leverage, center of mass, kinetic chains—physics as my magic.
—
3 years passed.
The time vanished in a sweat-blurred haze of repetition and dread. I was nine. The child who had arrived in this world was gone, replaced by a quiet, watchful creature with eyes too old for its face and a body that moved with unsettling economy.
There were a few days until the awakening ceremony.
A final audit. I have grown very strong. I could now do 1000 push-ups, 2000 punches, 2000 kicks. With additional running 50 km. And sword practices of hours. By the standards of any normal world, I was a demigod of physicality. Here, I was a curiosity.
The cold, rational part of my mind delivered the verdict: Still, a low level Aether user will beat me with ease. A simple [Ironbody] spell would turn my best punch into a slap. A [Gale Fist] from twenty feet away would shatter my ribs. My strength was a magnificent edifice built on sand.
I don't know what will happen in the ceremony. Will they kill me? Or something unexpected will happen? The Church, controlled by a dragon, would not allow an Aetherless Theodore to live. I was a flaw in their controlled system. Of course they will after knowing I don't have Aether.
The slim hope was my family. Surely my family would step up right? Or will they abandon me? Lord Theodore's citrine eyes swam in my memory. There was no loyalty there, only utility. What was my utility? I had trained in secret. I had solved a cipher he'd planted. Did that make me a valuable tool, or a loose end that knew too much?
As a matter of fact I can't really do nothing. The helplessness was a sour taste in my mouth. After nine years of struggle, I was walking into the lion's den with my hands tied.
Shit! Why is this happening to me again?! The old, familiar cry of injustice rose, thinking of the bus, of the unfairness of it all. But this time, I choked it down. This wasn't fate. This was the logical consequence of my parameters: a soul in a body without the world's essential power.
Calm down… it's not the end of the world… It felt like it was.
I just need to convince my family that I can fight without Aether. A desperate, thin plan. To prove my physical prowess was not a child's hobby, but a weapon they could use. A specialized tool for a situation where Aether was nullified or detected. A ghost in a world of shining beacons.
---
Awakening ceremony.
The day dawned, the twin moons pale spectres in a lavender sky. There was no fanfare in my wing. The maid brought me Noble clothes. Not my usual soft tunic, but a miniature version of the formal Theodore attire: trousers of dark grey, a jacket of deep blue edged with silver thread, boots that shone. Dressing a doll for sacrifice.
The day has come.
I left the place. It was the first time. Stepping out of the main doors in daylight was a sensory assault. The scale of the spires was even more immense, the gardens more vibrantly alien. The air was crisp, carrying distant smells of forge-smoke and strange blooms. I didn't gawk. I observed exits, sightlines, potential weapons (a loose stone, a gardener's tool).
A sleek, enclosed carriage waited, not drawn by beasts, but hovering a hand's breadth above the ground, etched with glowing Aetheric scripts. I was put in a carriage with my 2nd sister Lyra. She was already inside, a vision in silver and white, her severe beauty unchanged, her empty eyes looking out the window. She didn't acknowledge me as I climbed in and sat opposite her.
The carriage hummed to life. With a soft lurch, it rose, then shot forward, not along the road, but through the air, skimming over the treetops of the estate. The carriage started to fly. I was not shocked. Because I know that anything can happen in this world. I kept my face carefully neutral, a child's mask of quiet apprehension, not wonder.
We flew in silence for several minutes, the landscape blurring beneath us. Then, without looking away from the window, Lyra spoke. Her voice was the same as I remembered—clear, cold, like frost on glass.
"There is a rumor going around… That you have great talent in you… is that true?"
The question hung in the perfumed air of the carriage. It wasn't curious. It was a probe. A test.
My blood ran cold. A rumor? From whom? The silent maid? Had someone seen a shadow moving too fast in the nursery? Had my father's occasional, assessing glances seen more than I thought?
I met her empty gaze. The lie had to be perfect. My life depended on it.
I let a flicker of childish confusion, then a hint of pleased bashfulness, cross my face. "Talent, sister? I… I just do what the maids tell me." I made my voice a little higher, a little softer. The harmless, ignorant youngest child.
Her polished-stone eyes held mine. The tiny, almost imperceptible frown I'd seen years ago touched her lips again. She didn't believe me.
She said nothing else. She simply turned back to the window, leaving me with the chilling certainty that the ceremony was not the only trial awaiting me today. The family had begun its own evaluation. And I had just failed the first question.