The Box World.
Lucien rolled up to the pocket dimension where his thunderbird bro, Ethel, was crashing.
Right now, Ethel was doing barrel rolls through the clouds, practicing some next-level spins and vertical dives that'd make a fighter pilot jealous.
Electric arcs exploded off him—some thick as freaking dragons, others thin like silver snakes—ripping through the storm and dumping a biblical downpour.
Lucien had his waterproof bracelet on, so he didn't give a damn about getting soaked.
He looked up at Ethel flickering in and out of the clouds. His little wingman was actually rehearsing thunderbird mating dances. According to this way-too-horny-for-his-age bird, "the early bird gets the herd."
First time Ethel dropped that line, Lucien legit thought the unicorn blessing had glitched the translation. Had to get the mini-kirin to double-check. Nope. Dude was dead serious.
Lucien once asked why he was so obsessed with scoring a mate.
Ethel's answer?
"Boss, ever since I popped into existence, I knew I was destined to be the King of Thunderbirds. Gotta bag a harem, lay a ton of eggs, and blow up the population. But two years ago I shot my shot at this older chick—she ghosted me. Then her mate rolled up and whooped my feathered ass…"
Lucien's brain blue-screened. So it wasn't just humans—thunderbirds had abstract bros too.
Honestly? Ethel dodging the draft and rolling with Lucien might've saved his life. Otherwise, some jacked thunderbird would've turned him into fried chicken.
He glanced at the lightning-rain mash-up overhead, then raised his wand.
Blue-white sparks at the tip slowly bled into a faint purple.
Lucien flexed his thumb—the silver lightning tattoo on the pad was glowing hot, sucking in ambient thunder energy like a magnet and funneling it straight into his spellwork.
He started with the basics: Arc Surge.
Used to be a loud-ass spark. Now? A thumb-thick, twisted purple whip cracked out, snap-crackling as it lashed a distant tree into charred bacon.
Next: Static Shield.
Went from a blurry glow to a crackling wall of micro-snakes. A leaf blew into it—poof, instant ash.
After a few more test drives, Lucien cranked the juice. Magic flooded out like a busted dam; the tattoo flared white-hot.
"Thunder Cage: Lockdown."
Pure lightning chains roared from the wand tip—solid as forged steel, coiling around a boulder like electric pythons.
After running the gamut, Lucien confirmed: lightning spells were hitting harder—about a 10% bump, exactly like the loan perk promised.
The baby spells? Meh. But high-tier stuff like Thunder Cage? Chef's kiss.
"SKREEE—!"
A razor-sharp screech cut the air. Ethel dive-bombed, greeting his boss.
Lucien looked up—just in time to see fat lightning bolts drop from the sky like they were on a leash, slamming into the chains wrapped around the rock.
BOOM!!!!
The chains mutated. No longer chains—now a full-on cage forged from heavenly thunder. The flash was so bright Lucien squinted like a vampire at noon.
The boulder? Cracked like an egg, then exploded into dust with a teeth-grinding CRUNCH.
The cage fizzled out. All that was left was scorched earth and the smell of ozone.
Wind howled. Ethel landed with a six-wing flap, strutting up like a peacock.
"Boss, you smell delicious!"
---
Ethel hopped closer, still yapping about how good Lucien smelled. Lucien's first reaction: WTF?
Then the lightbulb clicked. He stuck out his wand hand, thumb tattoo glowing.
"Ethel, you mean this?"
Ethel nodded like a bobblehead, beak practically vibrating.
"Yup! Wasn't there before."
Bingo. The Elemental Lightning Tattoo cranked Lucien's thunder affinity to 11. Thunderbirds are basically walking lightning rods; the tattoo was catnip.
From the tests: casting lightning spells triggered the tattoo, which hoovered up ambient thunder energy and supercharged the magic.
That last Thunder Cage? It tugged on the storm clouds. Not enough to yank lightning solo… but close.
"Ethel, those sky bolts—you call 'em down?"
Ethel nuzzled Lucien's palm, snorting purple arcs up his beak like a crackhead.
"Kinda? When you cast, the clouds got twitchy. Last spell made 'em real antsy, but they wouldn't commit. So I gave 'em a shove—bam, right into your cage. Teamwork, boss!"
Thunderbird senses on steroids. Lucien's spells poked the sky; the tattoo amplified the poke; Ethel delivered the knockout.
He eyed the silver lightning tattoo.
Beginner tier. Still baby teeth.
Level it up? Might straight-up command lightning.
In the right environment, elemental tattoos could go nuclear. Earth near dirt, water by the ocean…
"Boss, can I taste your lightning magic?"
Ethel chirped, giving puppy eyes (beak version).
Taste?
Lucien shrugged. Thunderbirds eat lightning like popcorn.
He flicked a casual arc—purple-tinged, crackling.
Ethel gulped it like a shot of whiskey, smacking his beak.
"Rich, complex, aged to perfection~~"
Lucien facepalmed. Who taught this bird foodie talk?
Unicorn blessing translating memes?
"You full?"
"I mean—"
Ethel froze, eyes wide.
"Boss, you're not gonna feed me just magic, right?!"
"This stuff's gourmet, but I need carbon-grilled lamb, rare steak, spicy stir-fried chicken… Lightning's a snack! We gotta hunt or I'll get scurvy!"
Lucien sighed. Biggest foodie in the magical menagerie. Hands down.
"Relax, I'm not cutting your grocery budget."
---
Ravenclaw Common Room.
"Marietta-senpai, can you grab Qiu-senpai? Got Quidditch stuff to talk."
Marietta—Qiu's roommate and gossip queen—went from popcorn.gif to mildly bummed, but bounced back fast. Flashed an OK sign while sprinting upstairs.
"On it! Don't move!"
Lucien flopped on a couch. Hogwarts rule: girls can crash boys' dorms, but dudes trying the reverse?
Ravenclaw had silver knights at the girls' stairs—try sneaking in, get an axe to the kneecaps.
Gryffindor? Stairs turn into a slip-n-slide.
Per the school history book, Rowena Ravenclaw designed it 'cause "boys are unreliable." Iconic.
Qiu showed up sniffling, nose red. She sneezed cutely as she reached Lucien.
"Sorry, Lucien. Was about to hit Seventh Workshop for cold meds. Your potion slaps—tastes normal, and—"
She grinned, relieved.
"—no steam shooting out my ears like Pomfrey's tonic."
Tomorrow was Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff. Qiu wasn't trying to play Seeker with a fog machine for a head.
Lucien stood, wand sliding into his palm. Soft white light poured from the tip, wrapping Qiu like a cozy blanket.
The brain fog and stuffy nose? Gone.
"Thanks, Lucien! Your healing spells hit different!"
Unicorn blessing perk—buffs healing given and received.
"Marietta said Quidditch talk. You finally joining the house team?"
Qiu's eyes sparkled. Ravenclaw Quidditch was the weakest of the four houses.
Small house, chronic girlboss energy, barely scraping seven players.
If Lucien signed up…
"Ahem. Match is the day after tomorrow. I want you rocking the real East Wind broom on the pitch."
He pulled the final-version East Wind from his pocket like it was a pocket knife.
Qiu's hype deflated a bit at the no team join, but she zeroed in on the broom.
"The one Gryffindor and Slytherin Seekers used? Wait—no, this one's sleeker. More… subtle?"
Lucien handing her a full-size broom from his pocket? Normal now. Dude invented shrink charms for fun.
Lucien nodded, passing it over.
"Final build. Stability cranked."
Qiu's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.
"Lucien, how do you even invent this stuff? Sixth-years get alchemy, right? You self-taught?"
Because loan shark.
Lucien deadpanned internally.
"Self-taught is overselling. Met a dope mentor over summer—dropped mad knowledge."
"Plus, inventing pays the bills."
Qiu side-eyed him. Bills? This kid's loaded.
She called his bluff. Lucien stared at the ceiling at a dramatic 45°, sighing like a tired dad.
"I just love the grind. Also, helping classmates level up their study game."
Qiu snorted.
"So post-grad—you gonna be a mogul or a professor?"
"Headmaster or Minister of Magic. Gotta fix this busted education system…"
Qiu clocked he wasn't joking. Softened.
"You've got my vote."
"Hey—before the match, can you spot me some practice? Wanna get comfy with the new East Wind."
Lucien didn't hesitate.
"Bet. You up at 4 a.m.?"
Qiu blinked.
"4… a.m.?"
"Yup. Hogwarts at 4 a.m. is serene."
Dead silence. Then:
"Lucien, you sure you don't want to join Quidditch? That grindset? You'd be a pro."
Lucien rubbed his chin.
"Nah. Don't wanna eat dirt mid-air."
"???"