Noah plunged into his studies with a voracity that would leave any adult academic in a state of pure shock. His grandfather's library, already his sanctuary, became his personal laboratory. The volumes on Divination Arts and Ritualistic Magic, once obscure treatises, were now technical manuals.
His enhanced memory, an innate gift of the Path of the Fool, allowed him not only to memorize but to cross-reference methods, rituals, and theories at a frightening speed. He didn't read; he deconstructed and reconstructed knowledge, performing reverse engineering on the supernatural.
In his investigations into the Art of Divination, he experimented with tarot cards, aura readings, and even an Ouija board—under Daniel's watchful and somewhat apprehensive gaze. However, it was Spiritual Dowsing that proved not only the most intuitive but also the most powerful.
Holding the topaz pendulum over maps, questions written on paper, or simply focusing his intention, he felt a direct connection to... something. And this connection became exponentially clearer and more potent when he practiced it above the Gray Mist, during his dreams. There, the pendulum didn't just swing; it seemed to draw complex patterns in the air, pulled by threads of destiny only he could see.
However, as his skeptical mind had always suspected, there were insurmountable limits. He could ask, "Where is the library's master key?" and the pendulum would guide him to a secret drawer. But when he tried to ask, "What is the ultimate meaning of the universe?" or "Who created the Gray Mist?", the response was chaos: the pendulum would spin uncontrollably, his mind would be flooded with a white noise of contradictory possibilities, and a throbbing headache would remind him of his audacity.
He could search for details about a target if he had a strong anchor—a name, a personal object. But without it, even with a meticulous physical description, the connection was weak and imprecise.
Divination is not Omnipotent. The confirmation was not a disappointment, but a liberating epiphany. It was a fundamental law, as immutable as gravity. And at the exact moment this truth crystallized in his mind, something within him shifted. It was a subtle but undeniable sensation: an influx of energy, like a second wind arising from nowhere. His spirituality, which he felt as an internal reservoir, expanded slightly, becoming denser and more responsive.
At the same time, a slight itch ran through his bones, a feeling of realignment, as if his physical body was tuning itself to the new understanding of his soul. He made a mental note to investigate this physical change later; it was another piece of the puzzle.
It was then that he turned his attention to Ritualistic Magic. And, in one of his dreams within the Mist, the dream plane once again molded itself to his need. Upon the great misty table, where the sheets of the Paths had once been, a new tome materialized. It was a practical grimoire, detailing spells categorized by a strange numbering: from 0 to 3. Level 0 were chaotic tricks. Level 3 involved increasing luck and minor probabilistic alterations in favor of the target, and required simple components and preparations. Noah, cautious, decided to focus on Level 1 spells.
The ritual was a logical, yet profound process. First, it required a clear target. Noah, in his experimental solitude, chose himself. He was the subject and the object of his own study. Secondly, and most crucially, the magic demanded a point of contact, an entity to be contacted to lend power or act as a catalyst for the Seer's will.
And here, Noah's mind worked with peculiar logic. He didn't trust generic entities or "lesser gods" mentioned in the books. They seemed capricious, dangerous, and always demanded a price. He needed something... greater. Something that, in theory, was unquestionably powerful and, at the same time, fundamentally good, according to the teachings that permeated the culture in which he now lived.
His eyes closed in concentration.
'Who is better,' the thought emerged, clear and deliberate, 'than the God of the Bible Himself?'
The idea was audacious in the extreme. He wasn't thinking of a tribal god or a nature spirit. He was considering the monotheistic God, the creator of heaven and earth, the source of all law and order. A being who, according to doctrine, did not desire blood sacrifices or petty bargains, but rather one simple, yet profound thing: faith. Powerful, unshakable faith.
And Noah, at that moment, did not hold a traditional religious faith. But he possessed an unshakable belief as the Christian he was. He believed, with all the force of his logical being, that this God was real and His rules were true, so an act of will grounded in that belief should work. His faith was that of a devout, even if from a past life.
And so, with himself as the target and the concept of the Abrahamic God as the beacon to be contacted, Noah Edgar, the five-year-old boy with the soul of a man and the abilities of a Seer, prepared to perform his first Level 1 ritual. The air in the real library seemed to grow still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
He knelt on the wooden floor of the library, his hands resting on his knees, palms facing upward in a gesture of receptivity. His eyes were firmly closed, not out of fear, but from a deep reverence that transcended the need to see with physical eyes. The breath leaving his lips was a calm whisper, but each word carried a weight of conviction that echoed in the very foundations of the environment.
'Heavenly Father, I ask you to take control of my emotions and not allow the darkness to deceive, challenge, and manipulate me through them.'
'Today, in your name, I cast out all that torments my mind and distances me from you: thoughts, feelings that test my faith, my spiritual life, my connection with the Lord.'
'Place peace and calm in my heart, wisdom and certainty in my mind, anointing and discernment in my spirit, self-control and character in my soul.'
'May your power be in me and your Holy Spirit guide me, may your angels surround and defend me from the spiritual, mental, and emotional wars I am having.'
'In the name of Jesus, I declare liberation and healing in me. Thank you, my God, for your infinite love. I promise to share this prayer so that other people in need may see. Amen.'
A stamp of authority that echoed through the library like the tolling of a distant bell.
And the response was immediate. No time was necessary.
The library air, already charged with Noah's spirituality, seemed to solidify. Then, without any smooth transition, reality tore. The Gray Mist, that dreamlike and distant plane, manifested directly in the physical world. It didn't flood the room, but formed a silent vortex around the kneeling boy, a cylinder of shifting gloom and static.
And within this mist, against all its principle of void and desolation, golden particles came to life. They were like sparks of liquid sun, seeds of pure light that danced and clustered. They were not blind; they moved with purpose, converging towards a point in front of Noah. And then, the particles merged, weaving themselves into the form of a figure of light. It was not a defined human form, but a radiant silhouette, a presence made of condensed glory and divine warmth.
The figure extended a hand made of that same golden light. There was no physical touch, but a radiance flowed from it, a gentle cascade of benign energy that enveloped Noah completely.
Noah did not dare open his eyes. A pure, overwhelming, reverential fear kept his eyelids sealed shut. He knew, with a knowledge that came from the deepest part of his being, that looking upon that glory in its fullness would be unbearable for his mortal form. But he felt.
He felt the warmth that did not burn, but dissolved all the chill of the mist and all the anguish in his chest. It was a comforting, calm warmth, like that of a perfect spring day after a long, dark winter. It was a sensation of home, of belonging, of an absolute security he had never experienced, neither as Ethan nor as Noah.
Because Noah carried a fundamental truth from his past life. Ethan White, amidst his loneliness and despair, had never turned his back on the Lord of the Bible. He had been baptized in the waters, and in his darkest moments, faith had been his only anchor, his salvation.
This wasn't a magic he was learning; it was a relationship he was rekindling. And in that moment, kneeling in the silent library, enveloped by mist and light, the boy prodigy, the Living Mystery, the Seer, was simply a child.
The figure of light did not communicate with words that reached the ears, but with a sound that was pure meaning, a vibration that resonated directly in Noah's soul. It was an Almighty voice, not in the sense of volume, but of absolute authority. Each syllable was like the strike of a hammer forging destiny, laden with a meaning that transcended human language.
"This protection will only last until you become who you need to be, child."
"Stop fearing the Mist and look deeper into the darkness."
"Where there is Darkness, there is always Light."
As these truths echoed in every fiber of his being, the figure of light began to dissolve. Not like a flame being extinguished, but as millions of golden particles gently dissipating, withdrawing into the aether from which they came. Noah, moved by a force not entirely his own, slowly rose to his feet. His legs trembled, not from weakness, but from the immense energy circulating through him.
And then, the changes manifested.
His eyes, as they opened, emitted a supernatural glow. But it wasn't a homogeneous light. The right eye shone with an intense, deep red, like live embers, charged with an earthly, passionate, and perhaps ominous power. The left eye radiated a cold, crystalline blue, the color of clairvoyance, calm, and elevated intellect. The colors did not mix to form purple; they coexisted in a vibrant and unsettling contrast, two opposing natures sharing the same window to the soul.
Behind him, projected not onto the wall, but onto the very tapestry of reality, an image appeared. They were wings. Not physical wings, but a vortex of pure energy, a pattern of light and shadow that suggested the forms of majestic wings. Yet, they were small, almost incipient, hovering over his child's shoulders.
The true wonder—and the true terror—was in his shadow.
It was not a mere absence of light behind him. It was an entity of its own. Starting at his feet, it expanded impossibly, breaking the boundaries of the library, the mansion, the estate. The Gray Mist, which still enveloped the location, did not contain it. Noah's shadow projected through the physical plane, manifesting in the real world.
It was a shadow so gigantic that, for a brief and cataclysmic moment, it covered a significant portion of the European Continent. From England to the Urals, day turned to twilight without explanation. It wasn't an oppressive darkness, but a silent and vast shadow, a passing veil that made millions of people stop and look at the sky, with an inexplicable chill running down their spines. It was an instant global event, a sign in the heavens that no scientist or government could explain.
At the very epicenter of this phenomenon, Noah stood, his mind trying to process the incomprehensible.
'I received a miracle...' he thought, the word "miracle" seeming small and inadequate. He hadn't received a simple gift; he had received a cosmic identity, a signature of power that marked his place in the universe. 'Ah... What pain.'
The pain wasn't physical, but spiritual. It was the pain of accelerated growth, of the vessel being forcibly expanded to contain an ocean. It was the weight of the responsibility that now rested, not on his shoulders, but on his soul.
With an act of will that now seemed trivial in comparison, Noah waved his hand, an almost dismissive gesture. And the Gray Mist, which had manifested so powerfully in the library, unmade itself. It didn't retreat; it dissolved like smoke before a strong wind, leaving behind only the silence and the common afternoon light. For some reason, he could do this.
...
With the experience of ritualistic magic still fresh in his mind, tinged by the miracle and the colossal shadow, Noah wasted no time. Ethan's logical mind and Noah's insatiable curiosity merged into a single driving force: the systematization of power. He took a hardcover notebook, not for school notes, but to sketch a personal grimoire. With handwriting surprisingly precise for a five-year-old boy, he began to list and design spells.
Inspired by the success of the protection ritual, his thoughts flew to more earthly and immediate applications. He scribbled concepts for kinetic barriers, structures of spiritual energy that could deflect or absorb the impact of projectiles – arrows from a longbow, pistol bullets, the swift strike of a knife.
He sketched diagrams for object control spells, imagining moving books, tools, or perhaps even weapons at a distance, using only a thread of his will and spirituality. They were ambitious ideas, but he had time. At five years old, time was a resource he possessed in abundance, and the Edgar Mansion was the perfect laboratory.
But ritualistic magic was a slow process, requiring preparation. There were other abilities, more immediate and equally fascinating, waiting to be tested. It was time to investigate the unorthodox powers his status as a Seer—and perhaps something more—had granted him. His focus turned to the power described in the Path of the Door.
Standing in the center of his room, Noah faced a smooth, imposing wall, painted a light blue and decorated with ancient star charts. It was a solid, tangible barrier, a symbol of physical limitation. He observed it not as a child sees an obstacle, but as an engineer examines a mechanism. The Apprentice ability, he recalled, was to open a symbolic, incorporeal door.
The key, he realized, was not in the wall, but in perception. He didn't need to force an opening; he needed to redefine what that wall represented. In his mind, he visualized the solid surface not as an end, but as a threshold. An invisible doorframe, waiting only for a conceptual lock to be unlocked.
Open a symbolic, incorporeal door, he repeated to himself, internalizing the concept.
And then, without ceremony, he took a decisive step towards the wall. It wasn't a step of defiance, but of expectation. The instant the tip of his shoe should have collided with the wood and plaster, something extraordinary happened. The surface of the wall did not resist. Instead, it rippled. The solid matter behaved like the surface of a tranquil lake when a stone passes through it. There was a brief, icy sensation of resistance, like plunging through a curtain of dense water, and then his body passed through the barrier effortlessly.
On the other side, he found himself in the silent, empty corridor, illuminated by the soft light of the old wall sconces. He looked back at the wall, which now appeared perfectly solid and normal once more.
"As I imagined," Noah pondered, his voice a whisper in the quiet corridor. "If I consider walls and obstacles as doors, I can pass through them without effort."
It wasn't teleportation; it was a local reinterpretation of reality. And the most remarkable thing was the cost: a slight tug on his internal reservoir, like picking up a pen. Using this ability required so little Spirituality it was almost negligible. It was an incredibly efficient tool of freedom.