[Three Months Later][Location: Saint Ophelia's Orphanage, Sol's Room][Time: Early Morning]
Sol sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, and took inventory of his progress.
Three months. Ninety-two days of meditation, observation, and careful patience.
The results were... underwhelming.
[Sol - Current Status][Age: 4 years, 3 months (physical)][Level: 1 (still)][HP: 42/42 (+2 from physical growth)][MP: 37/37 (+27 from meditation)][Progress Rate: +0.29 MP per day average]
[Mana Pool Growth Analysis:]
Total Meditation Time: 276 hours MP Gained: 27 Efficiency: 0.098 MP per hour Projected Time to 100 MP: 642 more days (1.76 years) Projected Time to 1,000 MP: 9,073 days (24.8 years) Projected Time to 10,000 MP: Approximately never at this rate
Sol opened his eyes and stared at his tiny hands with frustration that felt decidedly un-childlike.
This is pathetically slow, he thought. At this rate, I'll be in my thirties before I have enough power to make a meaningful contract. In my fifties before I could challenge anything dangerous. In my seventies before I'd even approach my previous strength.
And that was assuming linear growth, which it wasn't. Mana pool expansion followed a logarithmic curve—each additional point became harder to gain as the total increased.
He'd rebuilt his analytical capabilities well enough to calculate these projections, and they were depressing.
[Manual Analysis Skills - Reconstructed]
Basic Pattern Recognition: 73% of original capability Data Cataloging: 81% of original capability Probability Calculation: 54% of original capability Threat Assessment: 67% of original capability Contract Reading: 91% of original capability (specialized knowledge)
Better than nothing. But still a fraction of what he'd once possessed.
I need tools, Sol realized, not for the first time. I need resources. Mana-rich environments. Access to materials. Training equipment. Knowledge repositories.
The orphanage provided safety and basic necessities, but nothing that would accelerate his growth. The air here was mana-poor. The food was mundane. The other children were... well, children. Sweet, occasionally annoying, and completely unable to help him reclaim his former power.
He needed—
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Sol?" Matron Elise's voice, gentle but urgent. "You have a visitor. A very important visitor."
Sol's analytical mind immediately flagged this as unusual. Visitors to individual orphans were rare. Important visitors were nearly unheard of unless it was adoption-related.
"Coming," he called, pitching his voice appropriately young.
He hopped off the bed—the distance to the floor still required actual hopping, curse this tiny body—and opened the door.
Matron Elise looked nervous. Excited-nervous, not scared-nervous, but definitely unsettled.
"The King's Steward is here," she whispered. "For you. They're saying you've been selected for the Royal Academy's early enrollment program. Sol, do you understand what this means?"
Sol's mind raced. The Academy. The King had mentioned a scholarship program three months ago, but Sol had assumed it would be a private tutor or a small school for gifted children.
The Royal Academy was different. It was Alexandria's premier educational institution—where nobles sent their children to study magic, combat, politics, and scholarship. Access to the Great Library. Exposure to high-level instructors. Mana-rich training facilities.
Tools. Resources. Everything he needed to accelerate his growth.
"I think so?" Sol said, making it sound like a question because that's what a four-year-old would do when nervous.
"Come, come. Don't keep them waiting."
Sol followed Matron Elise down the narrow stairs to the orphanage's receiving room—a modest space with worn furniture that suddenly felt shabby with a royal official standing in it.
[Royal Steward Analysis][Name: Unknown][Level: 156][Class: Administrative Official / Court Mage][Bearing: Professional, neutral expression][Threat: Low (but represents significant power)][Contract Status: Multiple official oaths visible—loyalty to crown, confidentiality agreements, administrative bonds]
The Steward was a tall woman in her fifties, wearing the deep blue robes that marked her as part of the King's direct service. She looked at Sol with an expression that gave away nothing.
"You are Sol?" she asked, her voice crisp and precise.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I am Steward Helena of the Royal Household. By decree of King Aldric III, you are hereby enrolled in the Royal Academy, Primary Division, effective immediately." She produced a scroll sealed with the royal crest. "Classes begin tomorrow. Your education, housing, and necessities will be provided by the Crown."
Sol's tiny heart skipped a beat. Housing? They were moving him from the orphanage?
"Housing?" Matron Elise asked, voicing his thought. "But he's so young to live away from—"
"The arrangement has been approved by His Majesty personally," Steward Helena interrupted smoothly. "Sol will reside in the Royal Estate's education wing, along with other early-enrollment students. He will be well cared for."
The Royal Estate. Not the palace itself, probably—that would be too prestigious—but the sprawling complex of buildings surrounding it where various royal functions were housed.
Still. The Royal Estate. Where the King lived. Where resources would be abundant. Where mana saturation was likely much higher than an orphanage.
"I..." Matron Elise looked torn between pride and concern. "If His Majesty decrees it..."
"Do you accept, Sol?" Steward Helena asked, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that suggested this question mattered more than it should.
Sol recognized a test when he saw one. The King wanted to see if he'd accept proximity to royal authority. If he'd choose advancement over the safety of obscurity.
An easy choice.
"Yes," Sol said clearly. "I want to learn."
Something flickered in Steward Helena's eyes—approval, maybe? "Then gather your belongings. The carriage waits outside."
"Now?" Matron Elise gasped. "But he needs time to say goodbye, to prepare—"
"His Majesty was quite specific about the timeline," Helena said, not unkindly. "Today."
Sol looked up at Matron Elise, who'd been genuinely kind to him these past three months. "Thank you for taking care of me," he said, and meant it. "I'll visit when I can."
She knelt and hugged him—a gesture that felt strange for someone who'd lived 847 years, but Sol forced himself to relax into it. Children needed affection. He was a child now, technically.
"Be good," she whispered. "Study hard. Make us proud."
"I will."
Ten minutes later, Sol sat in a royal carriage with his meager possessions (two sets of clothes and a wooden toy horse he'd never actually played with) and watched the orphanage recede into the distance.
Steward Helena sat across from him, studying him with that neutral expression that hid careful assessment.
"You're very calm for a four-year-old about to have his entire life change," she observed.
Sol caught the probe and deflected carefully. "Is being calm bad?"
"No. Just... unusual."
They rode in silence for several minutes through Alexandria's streets. Sol watched the city with interest—he'd only seen it from the orphanage window before. The architecture was beautiful: white stone buildings with colorful tile roofs, wide boulevards lined with trees, fountains in every plaza.
And the mana. Even from inside the carriage, Sol could sense it. The ambient mana increased noticeably as they approached the city center. By the time they entered the Royal Estate's gates, the concentration was easily three times what it had been at the orphanage.
[Environmental Scan - Royal Estate Grounds][Ambient Mana: High][Estimated Meditation Efficiency: +0.4 MP per hour (4x improvement)][Projected Time to 100 MP at New Rate: 157 days (5.2 months)]
Much better. Not perfect, but better.
The carriage stopped in front of a elegant building of moderate size—not the palace itself, but clearly important. Well-maintained gardens. Guards at the entrance. Other children visible through windows.
"The Academy's residential wing," Helena explained. "You'll share quarters with three other early-enrollment students. Your room is prepared."
She led him inside, through corridors decorated with paintings and tapestries depicting Alexandria's history. Past classrooms where he could hear instruction happening. Up two flights of stairs to a hallway lined with doors.
"This is yours," Helena said, opening a door to reveal a room that was luxury compared to the orphanage. Larger bed. A desk with paper and ink. A window with actual glass that wasn't full of bubbles. A bookshelf with primers on reading and mathematics.
And most importantly—a meditation mat in the corner.
Someone had thought about what a magically-inclined student would need.
"Meals are communal, in the dining hall downstairs," Helena continued. "Classes begin at dawn. Your schedule will be provided tonight. Do you have questions?"
Thousands. But Sol asked the one a child would ask: "Will I have friends here?"
Helena's expression softened fractionally. "The other students are good children. I'm sure you'll find companionship." She paused at the door. "One more thing. His Majesty requests your presence in his private study this evening. After dinner. A guard will escort you."
And there it was. The real reason for the rushed timeline. The King wanted to talk to him privately.
"Okay," Sol said, because that's all a four-year-old should say.
Helena left, and Sol was alone in his new room.
He walked to the meditation mat, sat down, and closed his eyes. The ambient mana here was delicious. He could already feel his pool responding, eager to expand.
This is what I needed, he thought. Tools. Resources. Now I can actually make progress.
But the evening meeting with the King loomed in his thoughts. Private study. After dinner. That wasn't about education.
That was about truth.
[Six Hours Later][Location: Royal Palace, King's Private Study]
Sol stood outside a door of dark wood carved with astronomical symbols, a royal guard on either side. One of them knocked—three measured strikes.
"Enter," came King Aldric's voice.
The guard opened the door, gestured for Sol to enter, and closed it behind him.
The study was... fascinating. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk covered in papers and maps, telescopes pointed at windows, magical instruments Sol recognized from his own research centuries ago. And everywhere—everywhere—contracts. Visible to his Contract Vision, layered throughout the room like spider webs of obligation and authority.
[Environmental Scan - King's Private Study][Contracts Detected: 2,847+ distinct agreements][Types: Political treaties, magical wards, loyalty oaths, property rights, inheritance laws][Complexity: Extreme][Assessment: This room is the contractual heart of Alexandria's power]
King Aldric sat at his desk, but he wasn't working. He was watching Sol with those intelligent eyes, his expression unreadable.
"Sol," he said quietly. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
There was a chair positioned in front of the desk—adult-sized, which meant Sol had to climb up into it and looked even smaller than usual.
They regarded each other in silence for a long moment.
Then the King stood, walked around the desk, and did something Sol didn't expect: he went to the windows and closed the curtains. Then he activated a privacy ward—Sol could see the contract snap into place, sealing the room against all observation.
[Privacy Contract Activated][Effect: No sound or image escapes this room][Duration: Until manually dismissed][Witnesses: Only those physically present]
The King returned to his desk, but this time he didn't sit. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, and his entire demeanor changed. The careful royal neutrality fell away, replaced by something more direct. More real.
"I'm going to speak plainly," King Aldric said, his voice low. "And I'm going to hope you understand more than a four-year-old should."
Sol's tiny heart hammered. This was it. The moment of truth.
"Three months ago," the King continued, "I visited an orphanage and met a boy with impossible eyes and contract scars on his palms. A boy who spoke with too much care and watched everything with too much understanding."
He pulled something from his desk drawer—a letter, yellowed with age but preserved by magic.
"This is a letter I received eight years ago from Master Solomon of the Moving Manor. We were discussing potential alliance terms." He set it on the desk where Sol could see it. "He signed it with his full name, title, and sealed it with a mark."
Sol looked at the letter. At the bottom was his signature—adult Solomon's signature—and below it, a seal. Not the Seal of Solomon from his palm, but a personal mark: a six-pointed star surrounding heterochromatic eyes.
"When I saw your eyes," the King said softly, "I thought it might be coincidence. Rare, but possible. But then I saw your palms. Contract scars. In patterns I recognized because I've studied contract magic for forty years, and those patterns are not random. They're deliberate. They're markers."
He sat down now, leaning forward.
"The Phoenix," he said, and Sol's blood went cold. "There are legends. Old ones. That Phoenix contracts can preserve souls. Transfer them to new vessels. It's considered myth by most scholars, but I've always wondered."
Sol remained silent, his mind racing through options. Deny everything? Admit selectively? Wait to see how much the King actually knew?
"And then," King Aldric continued, "two weeks ago, I received visitors. Thirteen women. Powerful. Desperate. Searching for something they'd lost."
Sol's breath caught. The Thirteen had come here?
"They claimed to work for the late Master Solomon. Said he'd allied with Alexandria before his death. Asked for sanctuary while they searched for... something. They wouldn't say what." The King's eyes bored into Sol's. "But I noticed they all wore contract marks. Bonds to someone. And when I showed them that letter, with Solomon's seal—the eyes—one of them gasped. A woman with silver hair. Eve, I think her name was."
Eve. She'd recognized the seal. Of course she had—she'd helped him design it.
"They're staying in the city," the King said. "Scattered. Searching. And I haven't told them about you. Yet."
That 'yet' hung in the air like a sword.
"Why not?" Sol asked, abandoning the childish speech pattern. If the King knew this much, pretense was pointless.
King Aldric smiled slightly. "Because I wanted to understand first. See what you'd do. Whether you were a threat or an opportunity." He leaned back in his chair. "And because I wanted to hear it from you directly."
Sol considered his options. The King had leverage—knowledge, power, control over Sol's environment. But Sol had leverage too—the Thirteen's loyalty, potential alliance value, and knowledge the King wanted.
This was negotiation. And Sol had negotiated with monarchs for centuries.
"What do you want to know?" Sol asked carefully.
"Are you Solomon?" the King asked bluntly. "Reborn, reincarnated, resurrected—whatever term applies—are you him?"
Sol met his gaze steadily. "I have his memories. His knowledge. His contracts." He lifted his tiny hands. "But this body is new. This life is new. So the answer depends on how you define identity."
"A philosophical answer."
"The only honest one."
The King studied him for a long moment. "You speak like him. That careful precision. That need to be technically accurate." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Can you prove it? Prove you're not just an imposter who stole a dead man's memories?"
Sol thought for a moment. "Ask me something only Solomon would know. Something from your correspondence."
"We discussed dimensional magic," the King said immediately. "You claimed to have a theory about space-folding that would revolutionize transportation. You said you'd share it when we met in person. What was the theory?"
Sol's mind pulled up the memory easily—a letter written six years ago.
"I theorized that space doesn't actually fold," Sol said. "It contracts. The difference is semantic but crucial. Folding implies bending three-dimensional space through a fourth dimension. Contraction implies convincing space that two distant points are actually adjacent. It's contract magic applied to the fundamental fabric of reality."
The King's eyes widened. "You were going to demonstrate it using..."
"A modified teleportation circle that treated distance as a negotiable parameter rather than a fixed value," Sol finished. "I estimated it could reduce mana costs by 60% compared to traditional gates."
"No one knows that," the King breathed. "I never shared that letter. Never told anyone about that theory."
"Because you wanted to verify it before announcing it," Sol said. "You were worried it might be wrong and didn't want to damage your reputation as a scholar-king."
King Aldric sat back heavily in his chair. "Divine witness. It's really you."
Sol nodded slowly. "In a sense. But Your Majesty, you need to understand: I'm not the same. My power is gone. My resources are gone. I'm starting over with nothing but knowledge and memory."
"And thirteen extremely powerful women searching for you," the King added dryly.
"And that," Sol admitted.
The King was quiet for a long moment, thinking. Then he stood and walked to the window, gazing out at his city.
"I'm going to tell you something now," he said without turning. "Something I've told very few people. Something that will explain why your presence here is... complicated."
Sol waited.
The King turned, and his expression was pained. Conflicted.
"When I was younger—much younger, before I became king—I had... relationships. Indiscretions. The sort of thing young princes do when they think they're invincible." He took a breath. "I have three bastards. Children born out of wedlock."
Sol's analytical mind immediately saw where this was going.
"The first two, I sent to Tor," the King continued. Tor—a distant city known for taking in royal bastards and giving them comfortable but obscure lives. "Gave them money, education, titles that meant nothing. Let them live well away from politics and succession disputes."
He returned to his desk and sat down heavily.
"But you," he said, meeting Sol's eyes. "You're different. You're not actually my child—we both know that. But to the world? A four-year-old appearing out of nowhere with no history, taken into the Royal Academy, given resources and attention?"
"People will assume I'm your bastard," Sol realized.
"Yes," the King said flatly. "The timing works. Your mother could be any number of women I knew four years ago. And your eyes—" he gestured vaguely, "—unusual enough to be interesting, not so unusual that people won't believe they're a hereditary quirk."
"You're using me as cover," Sol said slowly. "You want people to think I'm your illegitimate child."
"I want people to have an explanation that makes sense," the King corrected. "Because the truth—that you're an 847-year-old master of contract magic reborn in a child's body—would cause panic. Religious crisis. Political instability."
Sol could see the logic. It was actually clever. Hide the truth behind a scandal that was understandable, even expected from nobility.
"But you said I'm different from your other bastards," Sol prompted. "You're not sending me to Tor."
The King's expression grew intense. "Because you are different. You're Solomon. You have knowledge my kingdom needs. Understanding of magic we've barely scratched the surface of. And more than that..."
He leaned forward.
"Alexandria is surrounded by enemies. The Western Marches want our resources. The Demonic Territories eye our borders. Even allied kingdoms look for weakness. I need every advantage I can get." His eyes bored into Sol's. "You're an advantage. A massive one. But only if I can keep you here, safe, hidden until you're strong enough to be useful."
"You want me to stay," Sol said. "Grow in secret. Become powerful under your protection."
"Yes. And in return..."
"You want my knowledge. My contracts. My eventual power in service to Alexandria."
"Not service," the King corrected quickly. "Alliance. Like we discussed before. I don't want a subordinate—I want a partner. But one who's invested in this kingdom's survival."
Sol considered this. It was a contract, essentially. An unwritten one, but a contract nonetheless.
[Implicit Contract Terms - Proposed]King Aldric Offers:
Protection and secrecy about Sol's true identity Resources for growth (education, mana-rich environment, materials) Cover story (royal bastard) that explains attention and privileges Eventually: access to the Thirteen when Sol is ready Political support and authority
King Aldric Wants:
Sol's knowledge shared with Alexandria's scholars Sol's eventual power available to defend the kingdom Discretion about the arrangement Loyalty (or at least non-hostility) Help maintaining the deception
Risks for Sol:
Bound to Alexandria politically Limited freedom while young Dependent on King's continued support Bastard status comes with social stigma If truth emerges, consequences could be severe
Benefits for Sol:
Everything he needs to grow stronger quickly Protection while vulnerable Access to resources he couldn't get elsewhere Eventually: reunion with the Thirteen Path to reclaiming his power and position
It wasn't perfect. But it was better than any alternative Sol could see.
"I have conditions," Sol said.
The King smiled slightly. "Of course you do."
"First: I want access to the Great Library. Full access, not just children's sections."
"Granted, but supervised until you're older."
"Second: I want to meet the Thirteen eventually. When I'm ready. On my terms."
"Agreed. I'll keep them here in the city. Tell them I'm investigating something promising."
"Third: I want proper magical training. Not just Academy basics—real instruction in advanced theory."
"I'll assign you private tutors in addition to regular classes."
"Fourth: If my Manor is located, I want resources to reclaim it."
The King hesitated. "That depends on where it is and what condition it's in. But... I'll commit to helping within reason."
"Fifth and final: I want honesty between us. No hidden clauses. No surprises. If you make agreements about me, I want to know."
King Aldric extended his hand across the desk—an odd gesture to a four-year-old, but appropriate for the negotiation they were actually having.
"Deal. And I have one condition of my own."
Sol waited.
"You don't tell the Thirteen immediately who you are. Let them search a bit longer. Give me time to prepare for their reaction when they realize I've been hiding you."
Sol considered. The Thirteen were searching, grieving, desperate. Making them wait seemed cruel.
But they were also safe here in Alexandria. Fed, housed, protected. And if Sol revealed himself too early—before he had enough power to prove his identity beyond doubt—they might not believe him. Or worse, they might believe him and try to protect his secret so aggressively they'd draw attention.
"Three months," Sol negotiated. "Give me three months to grow stronger, to establish my cover story, to prepare. Then I'll make contact."
"Six months," the King countered.
"Four. And you help me create a signal only they would recognize."
The King thought, then nodded. "Four months. And I'll help with the signal." He shook Sol's tiny hand with surprising gentleness. "Welcome to the Royal Academy... and to a very complicated secret."
"I'm used to complicated secrets," Sol said dryly.
The King laughed—actual laughter, genuine amusement. "I imagine you are." He stood. "A guard will take you back to your quarters. Tomorrow you start classes with the other students. Play the role of a precocious but not impossible child. Be smart, but not suspiciously so. Ask questions, but not too many."
"Be myself, but less," Sol summarized.
"Exactly."
Sol hopped down from the chair. "One more question, Your Majesty?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you really keep this secret? You could have told the Thirteen immediately. Used me as a bargaining chip for their loyalty. Why didn't you?"
The King's expression softened. "Because I read your letters. All of them. And I understood something about you, Solomon." He gestured to the room full of contracts. "You see reality as agreements. Everything as negotiable. Everything as terms to be set and honored."
He walked Sol to the door.
"I wanted to set terms," he said quietly. "Before the world decided them for us. And because..." He paused. "Because I think you'll need an ally when you're strong again. Someone who knows what you are and doesn't fear it. Consider me an investment in a future where Alexandria has a very powerful friend."
Sol studied the King's face and saw sincerity there. Calculation, yes, but also genuine goodwill.
"Thank you," Sol said. "For seeing me. Not just the opportunity, but the person."
"Thank you for being someone worth seeing," the King replied.
The door opened, and Sol was escorted back through the palace halls toward the Academy wing.
His mind was already racing ahead, planning, calculating, adjusting.
[Updated Goals]
Maintain cover as royal bastard (new) Accelerate growth in mana-rich environment (in progress) Study at Academy without revealing full capabilities (starting tomorrow) Prepare signal for the Thirteen (4 months to design) Access Great Library for research (granted) Eventually: Reunite with Thirteen, reclaim Manor, make Wrath regret attacking him
[New Resources]
Royal protection High-mana environment Educational access Political alliance Time to grow before facing the world
[Current Status: Significantly Improved]
Sol reached his room, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling with a tiny smile.
How could I have not realized, he thought, replaying the conversation. When the King turned away from me after that first meeting. The body language said: "I can't let the council know of your existence. A bastard would diminish my face to the public."
But then he'd turned back, and his eyes had said: "But you're different. I'm not going to send you to Tor like the other bastards."
And that final look: "There's something about you. So you will go to the Academy. And you will start to live in the Royal Estate."
Sol had been so focused on hiding his own identity, he'd missed the King creating a cover identity for him.
But now he understood.
He was Sol, royal bastard, precocious child.
And secretly: Solomon, Contract Entity, building toward a future where he'd be strong enough to face gods and emperors and laugh at their attempts to control him.
Four months to prepare.
Then the Thirteen would know.
And the real work would begin.
Sol closed his eyes and began to meditate, feeling the rich mana of the Royal Estate flowing through him like wine.
Progress, he thought with satisfaction. Finally, real progress.