The quiet calm that followed Valerius's departure was a double-edged sword for Elias. While the immediate, suffocating pressure had lifted, the lack of intense scrutiny meant his days now held fewer structured lessons from Father Alaric. Seraphina was a cheerful companion, eager for games and stories, but Elias recognized the need for a different kind of progress. His mind, though sharp, remained tethered to the body of a three-year-old. The long game required physical resilience.
He began, subtly at first, to incorporate more rigorous movements into his play. Instead of merely stacking blocks, he would carry them across the room, meticulously increasing the weight with each trip. During strolls in the garden with Seraphina and their attendant governess, he'd turn simple walks into deliberate jogs, choosing routes that included small inclines or uneven terrain. He practiced climbing the sturdy, low branches of old oak trees, pushing his tiny muscles to their limits, building strength and coordination disguised as youthful exuberance. Every jump, every stretch, every sustained effort was a calculated step towards transforming this vulnerable body into a capable vessel for his adult intellect. He focused on endurance and core strength, understanding that these were fundamental regardless of future specialized skills.
His observations during these physical activities extended to the other children in the Keep – older pages, young squires in training. He noted their drills, their exercises, silently absorbing techniques, adapting them mentally to his own diminutive form. He watched the guards, their stances, their movements with weapons, creating a mental catalog of physical prowess in this new world.
One afternoon, seeking a new challenge, Elias ventured into a rarely used section of the Duke's sprawling library. Father Alaric usually kept him confined to the more accessible, well-lit areas. But with Valerius gone, and Father Alaric momentarily distracted by a persistent cough among the kitchen staff, Elias found a quiet, dusty alcove he hadn't explored. The shelves here were laden with neglected, leather-bound tomes, some with cracked spines and faded titles.
He pulled at a heavy volume, its cover thick with dust. It was larger than any book he'd handled, and required a genuine grunt of effort to dislodge. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, scattering a cloud of ancient dust motes into the sunlight streaming through a high window.
The title, etched in tarnished gold, read: The Aetheric Compendium: Principles of Manifestation.
Elias's heart gave a sudden, adult lurch. Magic. This world had magic, Phelena had claimed. But his cynicism had dismissed it as System fabrication. Now, here was a physical, dusty, real book. He flipped open the brittle pages. The language was archaic, dense, filled with diagrams and intricate symbols. His eyes scanned. Phrases jumped out: "Arcana Pool," "aetheric flow," "commanding the elements."
Then, a specific passage caught his attention, underlined in faded ink:
"...And though the Aether flows freely from the Divine Wellspring, its active manifestation for the benefit of the realm is solely the purview of the Montala Holy Order, for it is only through blessed hands that its power may be wielded for righteous war against the heathen and the unfaithful. Any unlicensed cultivation or private study of Aetheric manifestation is deemed heresy, punishable by the severest decree."
Elias froze. Not only was magic real, but its use was tightly controlled, monopolized by the very Church he sought to undermine. It wasn't a universal blessing for all, but a weapon restricted for "righteous war." The implications were staggering. Montala didn't just control wealth and faith; they controlled the very forces of reality in this world, at least the expressed forces.
He quickly, carefully, re-shelved the heavy tome, ensuring it looked as undisturbed as before. His small hands still trembled slightly. This wasn't just a book; it was a profound revelation. His physical training, while vital, suddenly felt insufficient. He needed to understand this world's true power, the magic that the Church held captive. Valerius's absence was indeed a gift – a window not just for subtle economic sabotage, but for the dangerous, exhilarating pursuit of understanding the fundamental wiring of this reality.