I stood there, the cool leather of the grimoire a tangible weight against my skin, a secret heartbeat thrumming in rhythm with my own. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, adrenaline, and a strange, potent sense of possibility. I was a software developer who had just been handed a book on how to perform magic. This was insane. This was a godsend.
The hour was ticking away. I had to face the King in the training yard, and I was completely unprepared. But I also had a new, terrifying tool at my disposal. I knew, with the certainty of a man who had just touched a raw wire, that I could not reveal this. This power, this **Aetheric Projection**, was mine alone. It felt like a part of my new body, a dormant muscle that was finally waking up.
I quickly scanned the shelves, my eyes now seeing the world in a different light. I couldn't read the books, but the symbols on them seemed to hum with a faint energy. I wasn't just seeing with my eyes; I was sensing with this new, latent magic. This was something Rian never had. This was a part of me, Alex, that had been reborn with this new life.
I slipped out of the library, the hidden grimoire making me feel like a thief. The corridors of the castle no longer felt like a prison. They felt like a maze, a place of secrets and hidden potential. I had to get to the training yard.
The training yard was a vast, open space paved with cobblestones, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat and steel. A dozen or so guards were practicing, their swords ringing against each other in a rhythmic, violent symphony. At the far end of the yard, the King stood, a polished, heavy-looking sword in his hand. My stomach flipped. He looked less like a king and more like a seasoned warrior, a man who had seen battle and lived to tell the tale.
Beside him, another man stood. He was tall, with a kind face and a familiar scar over one eyebrow. My mind, with that strange, fragmented certainty, supplied the name: **Sir Kael**, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Rian's mentor.
As I approached, the King's eyes fell on me, cold and assessing. "You are not late, Rian. Good. I trust you are ready."
My heart hammered. "Yes, Father. Ready." The lie felt hollow in my mouth.
Sir Kael gave me a small, encouraging smile. "A good morning for practice, Your Highness."
The King grunted in agreement. "We shall start with a simple spar. Kael, you will test him. Nothing too gentle, now."
Sir Kael nodded, a glint of steel in his eye. He was a professional, a warrior who took his craft seriously. My palms were sweating. My whole life, the most physical thing I had done was lift a keyboard and mouse. Now, I was about to fight a knight who had probably been training since he could walk.
A page, a young boy with wide eyes, handed me a practice sword. It was made of wood, but it still had a surprising amount of weight to it. I held it awkwardly, the hilt feeling foreign in my hand. Sir Kael, meanwhile, took his stance, his wooden sword held with a practiced ease.
"En garde, Your Highness," he said, a note of warning in his voice.
I tried to mimic his stance, my feet feeling clumsy and my shoulders tense. The King was watching, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. I had to do something. I couldn't just stand here and get pummeled. My mind raced, trying to access the fragments of Rian's memories, but they were disjointed, useless. My thoughts kept returning to the grimoire hidden in my tunic, the weight of it a constant reminder of my secret.
Sir Kael lunged, his attack swift and precise. I flinched, raising my sword in a pathetic attempt at a block. The clang of wood on wood was surprisingly loud, and the force of the blow rattled my bones. I stumbled back, my feet sliding on the cobblestones. He didn't even seem to be trying.
"Again!" the King's voice boomed.
Sir Kael moved again, this time a series of quick, targeted strikes. I parried, but it was all instinct and blind luck. My form was terrible, my movements clumsy. Sir Kael disarmed me with a flick of his wrist, and my wooden sword went flying, clattering to the ground. The King's face was a mask of disappointment.
"You are unfocused, Rian," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Your technique is sloppy. Your mind is elsewhere."
I swallowed, the taste of failure bitter in my mouth. My mind *was* elsewhere. It was in a world of code, a world of spreadsheets, a world where this kind of thing didn't exist.
"Let's try a different approach," the King said, his eyes narrowing. "Aetheric Projection."
My blood ran cold. The grimoire pressed against my chest, a physical reminder of my secret. My heart hammered. He knew. How did he know?
"Aetheric Projection, Father? I'm not sure what you mean," I said, trying to sound confused.
The King let out a short, humorless laugh. "Don't play coy, Rian. Your mother tells me you've been spending time in the library. And I saw the light in your hand this morning."
I was caught. My secret, the one thing that could have saved me, was already exposed. My carefully constructed plan of hiding my magic was in ruins. I looked at the King, his face hard, and then at Sir Kael, who looked equally confused. The King hadn't seen the light. He was testing me. He was fishing for a confession, a sign that I was more than just a clumsy swordsman. My mind, with all its programmer logic, was a maze of algorithms, trying to find a way out of this impossible situation.
I had to double down on the lie. "Father, I'm afraid you are mistaken. I have no idea what 'Aetheric Projection' is. My focus has been on my swordsmanship, as you have always instructed."
The King's gaze was like a physical weight, pressing down on me. He said nothing, just stared, and in that silence, I could feel a lifetime of unspoken disappointment. I was not the son he wanted. I was not the warrior he needed.
Finally, he turned to Sir Kael. "Very well. He is unfocused. We will work on the basics, then. Kael, you will drill him until he is exhausted. He will not leave this yard until he can hold a sword properly."
Sir Kael nodded, his expression now serious and focused. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
The King walked away, leaving me to the mercy of a seasoned warrior who was now tasked with whipping me into shape. I picked up my wooden sword, my hands shaking. The grimoire in my tunic was no longer a symbol of hope. It was a ticking time bomb. The King knew something was up. He was watching me. He was waiting for me to slip up, to reveal my hand. I had to hide this power, to bury it so deep that no one, not even I, would know it was there. I had to become the prince they wanted, the warrior they needed, and the mage no one suspected. My new life was not just a story; it was a performance, and the stage was the training yard. My first lesson in swordsmanship was about to begin, and I knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was going to be the longest, most painful lesson of my life.
Sir Kael was relentless. For the next hour, I was a living, breathing punching bag. His wooden sword was a blur of motion, a relentless storm of feints, thrusts, and parries that I could barely comprehend, let alone defend against. Each strike, though non-lethal, sent a jarring vibration up my arms and rattled my teeth. I stumbled, fell, and fumbled, my grip on the hilt of my sword growing weaker with every passing minute.
"Again, Your Highness!" Kael's voice was a sharp command, devoid of the gentle encouragement he had shown earlier. "Your footing is a mess. Stay low. Watch my eyes, not my blade!"
My body screamed in protest, a chorus of aches and unfamiliar pains. My muscles, sculpted though they were, were not used to this kind of punishment. They were built for a different life, one of which I had only fragmented memories. But as I stumbled and fell, a strange thing began to happen. The pain, the exhaustion, they weren't just sensations. They were data.
My mind, the mind of Alex the software developer, began to process the inputs. Kael's attacks were not random. They were a series of algorithms, a sequence of movements that, once understood, could be predicted. His feints always came from the same angle. His power strikes always had a tell—a slight shift in his weight, a tightening of his shoulder. I started to see the pattern, not with my eyes, but with the cold, calculating logic of my old self.
I parried a strike that would have disarmed me again, and this time, the block was solid. The shockwave still rattled my arm, but I held my ground. Kael's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise in their depths.
"Better," he grunted, and he came at me again, faster this time. But I was ready. I anticipated his move, stepping out of the way of a lunge and delivering a clumsy, but effective, counter-swing that forced him to block. It was a small victory, but it felt monumental. The King, who had been watching from a distance, seemed to lean forward, a new kind of focus on his face.
The fight went on, and I, the programmer, was learning the language of the sword. The grimoire hidden beneath my tunic was a constant, throbbing reminder of my other secret, my other potential. I could feel the energy building within me, a quiet hum that was a stark contrast to the clang of steel. I could feel the magic, the **Aetheric Projection**, just waiting to be unleashed. But I couldn't. Not here. Not yet.