We were lying on my bed, Isolde beside me. The moment we saw the overwhelming wall of text in the healing magic section, we slammed the book shut without hesitation. Don’t judge us—we’re still too young to process that monstrous volume of information.

It was absurd. That section alone was easily twice as long as all other magic disciplines combined, as if the author had decided to compensate for his complete lack of restraint with sheer word count. I skimmed just enough to get the gist: molecular healing magic. An approach that operated at the level of proteins and chemical bonds, manipulating the body’s processes to repair cellular damage and prevent disease at its root.

In theory, it allowed for:

• DNA repair (preventing mutations/genetic disorders).

• Protein regeneration (halting premature aging).

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• Toxin removal through magical transmutation.

• 
  

And that was just the basics. It wasn’t hard to see why mastering this would be hell.

Six years have passed since my… unconventional birth.

For the last two months, I’ve been self-training in magic and swordsmanship. No teachers—just the guides, Isolde, and my own stubbornness. Hiring a tutor would’ve been logical, but I doubt anyone in this kingdom knows the martial arts described in the Paradox Scriptures.

I considered the academy. When I asked Mother about it, though, I learned admissions start at twelve, with training lasting until eighteen. That hit harder than it should’ve. Not much I can do but wait.

For now, it’s just me, the books, and Isolde.

“I don’t get this Jiujitsu crap,” she grumbled, attempting a Tsuri Goshi on a corn sack.

“It’s harder than it looks…” I said, testing a hook kick.

Our flexibility, stamina, and patience were lacking. Two months in, we’d barely mastered ten techniques across different martial arts. Sounds impressive—until you remember the Paradox Scriptures catalog eight thousand.

Eight thousand

An insane number, though each technique is documented with obsessive precision. At least the text provides shortcuts.

Take the Wave Evasion & Counter from Systema:

Relax → let the attack flow past you.

Thanks to those notes, Isolde and I picked it up relatively fast. But the further we go, the clearer it becomes—each new technique is exponentially harder.

“Lucius, Isolde! Dinner!” Mother called from the doorway.

Yes, the doorway. I've never liked going out. We could train in the hills or explore the kingdom’s streets, but… the outside world doesn’t appeal to me.

I’d rather stay in our room, a book in hand, Isolde by my side. That said, if she ever wants to go out—to play with other kids—I’d follow.

For now?

We rushed downstairs. Food awaited.

I’ll shelve it for later. Maybe when I’m older and my patience isn’t measured in toddler-sized increments.