The following Monday morning dawned, crisp and clear, but for Jake, the world felt fundamentally different. The familiar weight of his backpack on his shoulders, the mundane crunch of gravel under his sneakers on the walk to school, even the distant hum of traffic – all seemed muted, almost insignificant, compared to the cosmic grandeur he now carried within him. He had spent what felt like an eternity in Aethelred's realm, shaping destinies, commanding elements, and conversing with his pantheon. That boundless power, that absolute control, had left an indelible mark. The dork facade, once his entire identity, felt thin, brittle, prone to cracking.
He walked beside Katy, who was, as usual, animatedly discussing her latest article idea for the school newspaper. "It's about the cafeteria food, Jake, but from a journalistic, investigative angle. Like, what exactly is the mystery meat? Is it even meat? I'm thinking of doing a deep dive, maybe even getting a sample tested."
Normally, Jake would offer a quiet, amused grunt. Today, he found himself interrupting. "You know, if you wanted to really get to the bottom of it, you could analyze the protein structures. Or, you could just observe the sourcing logistics. Most school districts have a centralized food service provider, and their contracts are public record. You could trace it back to the origin, see the supply chain."
Katy stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth slightly agape. She stared at him, her eyes wide. "Jake? Did you just… talk about protein structures and supply chains? And 'sourcing logistics'?" Her tone was a mixture of surprise and genuine bewilderment. "Are you feeling okay? Did you get enough sleep?"
Jake blinked, feeling a faint flush creep up his neck. He hadn't meant to sound so… informed. The knowledge had just been there, a natural extension of the vast understanding he now possessed as a god. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, trying to backtrack. "Just… read something. Online, you know." He quickly changed the subject, feeling the first subtle leak of Aethelred into Jake.
At school, the change was even more pronounced. In Mr. Henderson's math class, the very subject that had caused him so much anxiety just days ago, Jake found himself strangely at ease. The complex algebraic expressions that had once seemed like impenetrable puzzles now appeared as simple patterns, their solutions almost intuitively obvious. When Mr. Henderson put a particularly challenging problem on the board, one that stumped most of the class, Jake's hand shot up without conscious thought.
"Yes, Miller?" Mr. Henderson asked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Jake rarely volunteered.
"It's a quadratic equation, sir," Jake stated, his voice clear and confident, devoid of its usual stammer. "You can solve it by factoring, or if that's not immediately apparent, the quadratic formula will yield the roots. In this case, if you rearrange it to x2−5x+6=0, the factors are (x−2)(x−3), so x equals 2 or 3." He explained it with a precision and clarity that sounded less like a middle schooler and more like a seasoned tutor.
A hush fell over the classroom. Mr. Henderson stared at him, his mouth slightly open. "That's… entirely correct, Miller. And quite eloquently put." He looked at the rest of the class, then back at Jake, a new, speculative glint in his eye. "Very good."
Jake felt a thrill of pride, mixed with a growing unease. He hadn't even thought about it; the answer had just flowed. It was as if the knowledge of his realm, where he could instantly comprehend complex systems, was bleeding into his real-world brain. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to shrink back into his seat, but the attention, though positive, felt overwhelming.
During the short break between classes, Jane and Michael cornered him by his locker.
"Dude, what was that?" Michael asked, his eyes wide. "You just, like, owned that math problem. I didn't even know you knew what a quadratic equation was."
Jane nodded, a curious smile on her face. "Yeah, Jake. You were like a math wizard. You've been… different, since yesterday. More… awake."
Jake shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just had a good breakfast, I guess. Brain food." He forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. He couldn't tell them. How could he? "Oh, hey, speaking of food," he added, trying to divert, "don't you guys think we're going to have a fire drill today?"
Jane frowned. "A fire drill? Why would you think that? There's nothing on the school calendar."
"Yeah, and it's not even fire drill season," Michael added, looking skeptical.
Jake felt a sudden surge of certainty, a vivid image flashing in his mind: the shrill, piercing sound of the alarm, the orderly (or not-so-orderly) lines of students evacuating the building. He had seen it. In his realm, where he could fast-forward time, he had inadvertently witnessed the school day unfold, complete with the drill. "I don't know," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a feeling. You know, sometimes you just get a vibe." He gave them a knowing look, hoping they'd drop it.
They exchanged glances, clearly unconvinced, but the bell for the next class rang, forcing them to move on.
Later, in history class, Mr. Davies was in the middle of a particularly dry lecture on the ancient Roman economy. Jake, usually struggling to keep his eyes open, found his mind racing ahead, anticipating Mr. Davies's next sentence, even his next gesture. He felt a strange, almost prescient awareness of the room, of the flow of time. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:47 AM.
He felt it then, a subtle tremor in the air, a faint, almost inaudible hum that preceded the inevitable. He knew. He just knew.
"Alright, class, so the Roman fiscal policy was largely based on—" Mr. Davies began, just as a shrill, piercing BEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEP! tore through the classroom, echoing through the halls.
The fire alarm.
Students jumped, startled, some gasping, others muttering. Mr. Davies, though clearly surprised, quickly regained his composure. "Alright, class, calmly and orderly, let's proceed to our designated exit!"
Jake, however, was already standing, calmly gathering his books. He walked towards the door with a quiet confidence, not a hint of surprise on his face. He caught Jane's eye as she passed him. Her jaw was slightly dropped, her eyes wide with disbelief. Michael, walking behind her, gave him a look that was a mixture of awe and utter confusion.
Outside, as the students gathered on the sprawling school lawn, the air filled with chatter and the excited energy of an unexpected break. Jane nudged Jake. "How did you know?" she whispered, her voice hushed with wonder. "You actually predicted it!"
Jake just shrugged, a small, almost smug smile playing on his lips. "Like I said, just a vibe." He couldn't explain it. Not yet. But the feeling of being right, of knowing something no one else did, was incredibly powerful. It was the feeling of being Aethelred, even here, in the mundane world.
The rest of the day continued with similar, subtle shifts. In English, he offered an interpretation of a poem that left his teacher, Ms. Albright, speechless. During science, he effortlessly grasped complex concepts that usually took him days to understand. The dork facade was cracking, revealing glimpses of the god beneath.
That evening, back in the sanctuary of his room, Jake finally allowed himself to relax. He pulled out his backpack, dumping his textbooks onto his desk. A week's worth of homework stared back at him – math problems, history essays, science diagrams. Normally, this would fill him with dread, hours of tedious work.
He looked at the shimmering portal, still pulsing faintly in the corner of his room. He had mastered time in there. Could he… bring that mastery out here? Not overtly, not in front of people, but for his own benefit?
He closed his eyes, focusing. He pictured the stack of homework, then pictured himself, a blur of motion, completing it with impossible speed. He concentrated on the feeling of time stretching, of his movements becoming impossibly fast, while the world around him remained frozen.
He opened his eyes. He picked up his math textbook. With a surge of focused will, the room around him seemed to blur, then slow. The ticking of his bedside clock became an almost imperceptible crawl. His hand moved like lightning, solving problems, flipping pages. He wrote, he read, he drew, all in a hyper-accelerated state. The words flowed from his pen, the numbers aligned perfectly. He felt no fatigue, no strain. It was effortless.
A few moments later, the blur subsided. The clock on his bedside table had barely moved. He looked down at his desk. The math problems were solved, the history essay was written, the science diagrams were perfectly labeled. A week's worth of homework, completed in what felt like mere seconds of real-world time.
Jake leaned back in his chair, a triumphant, yet slightly unnerved, smile on his face. The power was real. It wasn't confined to his realm. It was bleeding into his life, subtly, powerfully. He was still Jake, the dork, but the lines were blurring. The god complex was leaking. And he wasn't sure if he could, or even wanted to, stop it.