[Three Weeks After the Training Incident][Location: Royal Academy Library, Third Floor][Time: Late Afternoon]
Sol had discovered that the library's third floor was nearly always empty.
The first floor housed popular fiction and basic primers—constantly crowded with younger students. The second floor contained intermediate texts and study tables—claimed by older students preparing for advancement exams. But the third floor held obscure historical texts, theoretical treatises on advanced magic, and dense philosophical works that most students avoided.
Perfect for a four-year-old who needed to appear to be struggling with basic reading while actually researching dimensional magic theory.
He sat cross-legged on the floor between two towering shelves, a book titled "Foundational Runes for Beginners" open in his lap for appearances. But his attention was on the much thicker tome propped against his knees: "Theoretical Frameworks of Multi-Dimensional Contract Binding" by Arch-Mage Castellan, published 340 years ago.
[Current Status Update][Days Since Reincarnation: 89][MP: 67.4/67.4][Level: 1] (still; children didn't gain levels until age 10 typically) [Physical Age: 4 years, 3 months][Mental Age: 847 years, 3 months][Contract Capacity: 0/???] (unknown until he reached sufficient mana) [Days Until Planned Contact with the Thirteen: 31]
His mana pool had grown faster than he'd anticipated. The combination of Professor Aldwin's meditation exercises, the Academy's naturally high-mana environment, and Sol's centuries of optimization knowledge meant he was progressing at roughly double the rate of his peers.
Marcus now had approximately 93 MP. Sol would never catch up to children older than him—not naturally—but he was closing gaps that shouldn't be closable.
Still, 67 MP was pathetically small compared to the 10,000 he'd once commanded. And more frustratingly, he couldn't actually use most of it. Casting spells required more than mana—it required verbal components, somatic gestures, and the ability to channel power through properly developed neural pathways. A four-year-old's brain simply wasn't wired for complex spell work yet.
But contracts? Contracts worked differently.
Contracts didn't require casting. They required agreement. Understanding. Intent made manifest through mana-binding. And Sol's mind was more than developed enough for that.
The problem was finding entities worth contracting with who wouldn't immediately reveal his true nature.
Patience, he reminded himself. Thirty-one more days. Then the Thirteen will find me, and everything becomes easier.
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell—too light to be Professor Aldwin, too deliberate to be another student casually browsing. Sol's analytical mind cataloged the sound: even gait, confident stride, purposeful direction.
Someone was coming specifically to the third floor.
Sol quickly closed the advanced text and shoved it behind a lower shelf, then pulled the beginner's book fully into his lap. He adopted the expression of a child struggling to sound out words, his lips moving slightly as he traced a finger under simple runes.
The footsteps approached his aisle and stopped.
Sol looked up, his expression carefully surprised.
Professor Aldwin stood at the end of the shelf row, his ancient face unreadable, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes.
[Analysis: Professor Aldwin][Emotional State: Curious, Patient, Knowing][Threat Level: Unknown][Probability He Knows Sol Is Hiding Knowledge: 78.3%]
"Foundational Runes," Professor Aldwin observed, his voice carrying the quiet that libraries demanded. "Excellent choice for independent study. Most children your age can't read yet at all, let alone choose their own supplementary materials."
Sol considered his response options carefully. Deny too much and he'd seem stupid. Admit too much and he'd reveal himself. Find the middle ground.
"The pictures help," Sol said, turning the book to show a diagram of a basic light rune. "And Lyra reads to me sometimes. She explains the hard words."
"I'm sure she does." Professor Aldwin walked closer and sat down on the floor with surprising grace for an octogenarian. He didn't ask permission—simply joined Sol in his reading space like it was the most natural thing in the world. "May I?"
He gestured to the book. Sol handed it over.
Professor Aldwin flipped through pages, his eyes scanning text and illustrations with the speed of someone who'd read this particular book dozens of times. "This is a good text. Basic, but thorough. It covers the fundamental runic alphabet—twenty-seven primary runes, each with three variations depending on context." He glanced at Sol. "How far have you gotten?"
"The first seven runes," Sol said, choosing a number that suggested progress without being suspiciously advanced. "I can draw them, but I don't understand what they all do yet."
"Show me."
Sol hesitated for exactly the right amount of time—long enough to seem uncertain, short enough to suggest he actually could do it. Then he pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from the small bag Lyra had helped him prepare for library visits.
He drew the first seven runes from memory, deliberately making small mistakes. The curves were slightly off, the angles not quite precise. Child-level work that showed promise but not mastery.
Professor Aldwin examined the drawings with the careful attention of a master craftsman assessing an apprentice's work. "These are... adequate," he said finally. "The proportions are inconsistent, and your line work needs refinement. But you understand the basic shapes, which is more than most students achieve in their first month of study."
He pulled out his own quill—a beautiful instrument that glowed faintly with enchantment—and drew the same seven runes below Sol's attempts. Each line was perfect, each angle exact. The runes practically hummed with potential even though they weren't powered.
"Practice makes perfect," Professor Aldwin said. "Copy these every day. Twenty repetitions of each. Your muscle memory will improve."
"Thank you, Professor." Sol looked at the runes with manufactured wonder, though internally he was noting that Aldwin's technique was actually slightly outdated—the modern interpretation of the third rune had shifted in the last hundred years to use a sharper angle at the apex.
Professor Aldwin stood, brushing dust from his robes. But he didn't leave. Instead, he walked to the shelf where Sol had hidden the advanced text and pulled it out with casual certainty.
Sol's heart didn't race—847 years of experience prevented that—but his mind immediately began calculating responses.
The professor looked at the book's spine, then at Sol, then back at the book. "Theoretical Frameworks of Multi-Dimensional Contract Binding," he read aloud. "Quite dense. Even most advanced students find Castellan's work impenetrable. Far too theoretical, too abstract." He paused. "Someone left it miss-shelved down here."
He placed it on a higher shelf—well out of Sol's reach—and turned back with a slight smile. "If you're interested in contracts, Sol, I recommend starting with 'Basic Agreements and You' by Scholar Merin. It's on the second floor, children's section. Much more appropriate for your age."
"I'll look for it," Sol said quietly.
Professor Aldwin studied him for a long moment, those ancient eyes seeing far more than Sol wanted revealed. "You're a curious child," the professor said. "Curiosity is a wonderful trait. It drives learning, discovery, growth." He paused. "But unchecked curiosity can also be dangerous. It can lead young minds into areas they're not ready to understand. Or worse—areas they understand too well, too soon."
The warning was clear: I know you're hiding something. Be more careful.
"I'll be careful, Professor," Sol said, meaning it.
"See that you are." Professor Aldwin moved toward the stairs, then paused. "Oh, and Sol? If you ever want to discuss magical theory—at a level appropriate for your apparent age—my office hours are every afternoon. I enjoy talking with students who show genuine interest."
He left before Sol could respond.
Sol sat in silence for several minutes, his mind racing through implications.
[Analysis Complete][Professor Aldwin definitely suspects something][He's giving Sol an out: come to him officially, discuss things openly, within controlled parameters][Alternative interpretation: He's testing Sol to see how Sol responds to being caught][Threat assessment: Moderate-Low (seems protective rather than hostile)][Recommended action: Accept the office hours invitation, use it as cover for asking "precocious" questions]
Sol carefully packed his materials and stood. The library had felt safe, but now it felt observed. Not dangerous, exactly, but less private than he'd thought.
He needed to be more careful. Thirty-one more days wasn't very long, but it was long enough to make serious mistakes if he wasn't cautious.
[Later That Evening][Location: Shared Quarters][Time: After Dinner]
Marcus was holding court again, regaling Kieran and two other noble children with stories about his father's latest military campaign. Lyra was in the corner, pointedly ignoring him while working on an embroidery project. And Sol sat on his bed, allegedly reading but actually listening to everything.
"—told the general that Alexandria's strength isn't just our army," Marcus was saying, his voice carrying that particular tone he used when quoting his father. "It's our knowledge. Our innovation. That's why Father's investing so heavily in the Academy. Every mage we train is worth ten conventional soldiers."
One of the visiting boys—a chubby child named Frederick from House Denholm—nodded eagerly. "My father says the same thing! He says the next war won't be won with swords. It'll be won with spells."
"Exactly!" Marcus looked pleased to have found someone who understood. "Which is why it's so important to identify magical talent early. Weed out the weak, invest in the strong. Father's already talking about implementing stricter testing. Only the most gifted children will receive advanced training."
Sol's attention sharpened despite himself. This was new information—was the King really planning to restrict Academy access? That would fundamentally change Alexandria's entire educational philosophy.
"What about scholarship students?" Kieran asked quietly. "Would they still be allowed?"
Marcus waved dismissively. "The talented ones, yes. But we waste so many resources on children who barely have enough mana to light a candle. Better to send them to trade schools, let them learn useful crafts. Save the magical education for those who can actually use it."
"That seems harsh," Lyra said from her corner, not looking up from her embroidery. "Some people are late bloomers. My mother didn't show real talent until she was twelve."
"Then she should have received training at twelve," Marcus said with the absolute certainty of a child who'd never struggled with anything. "Not wasted years of instruction she couldn't absorb."
Sol kept his expression neutral, but internally he was troubled. If Alexandria really implemented such a policy, it would concentrate magical power in existing noble families even more than it already was. Talent wasn't purely hereditary—Professor Aldwin had said as much—but early testing favored children from wealthy families who could afford mana-rich food, high-quality tutors, and growth-enhancing environments.
It was a policy designed to preserve existing power structures under the guise of efficiency.
And Marcus supports it because it benefits him, Sol realized. He sees the Academy as a competition he's winning, and he wants the rules changed to ensure he keeps winning.
"What do you think, Sol?" Marcus asked suddenly, his voice cutting across the room. "About magical testing? Should the Academy accept anyone, or only the gifted?"
Every head turned toward Sol. A trap—obviously a trap—but Sol couldn't see the angles yet.
"I don't know enough to have an opinion," Sol said carefully. "I'm still learning what the Academy is for."
"Oh, come now," Marcus said with that dangerous smile. "You're not that humble. I've seen you in class—you pay attention to everything, ask questions when you think no one important is listening. You must have thoughts on how magical education should work."
Sol felt the weight of multiple gazes. Frederick looked bored. Kieran looked uncomfortable. Lyra had stopped embroidering to watch. And Marcus looked like a cat watching a mouse, waiting to see which way it would run.
[Analysis: What does Marcus want?][Option 1: Sol agrees with meritocracy → Marcus paints him as elitist despite being "low-born"][Option 2: Sol defends broad access → Marcus paints him as naive/idealistic][Option 3: Sol refuses to engage → Marcus paints him as cowardly/stupid][Conclusion: Any answer loses. Don't play the game.]
"I think," Sol said slowly, "that I'm four years old and probably shouldn't have strong opinions about education policy."
Several people laughed—nervously, but genuinely. Even Kieran cracked a smile.
Marcus's expression flickered with annoyance. "How convenient. The bastard claims youth when pressed for actual thoughts."
"I'm not claiming youth," Sol said, keeping his voice mild. "I am young. I've been at the Academy for less than three months. You've been here since you were five. It makes sense that you'd understand these things better than me."
It was a deflection wrapped in apparent deference—acknowledging Marcus's superiority without actually agreeing with his position. And crucially, it made Marcus look petty if he pushed further.
Marcus recognized the maneuver. His eyes narrowed fractionally. "How diplomatic. Did they teach you that in the orphanage? Or did you pick it up from watching your betters?"
There it is, Sol thought. He's still angry about the training yard incident. Still punishing me for watching too closely.
"I don't remember much about the orphanage," Sol said truthfully. "Most of my memories start here."
It was the perfect response because it was completely ambiguous—it could mean he was too young to remember, or that trauma had affected his memory, or simply that his new life had overshadowed his old one. Marcus couldn't attack any of those interpretations without seeming cruel.
Frederick yawned. "This conversation got boring. Marcus, didn't you say you'd show us that card game your brother taught you?"
And just like that, the attention shifted. Marcus let Sol go—for now—and pulled out a deck of elaborately illustrated playing cards. The conversation moved to games and gambling and childish competition.
Sol exhaled quietly and returned his attention to his book.
Lyra caught his eye from across the room and gave a small nod—acknowledgment of Sol's successful navigation through dangerous social waters.
He nodded back minimally.
Thirty-one more days. Then he'd have allies who could match Marcus's political skill and social power. Allies who'd spent over a century learning to read social dynamics and manipulate them.
Until then, Sol just had to keep surviving.
[That Night][Location: Sol's Bed][Time: Well Past Midnight]
Sol couldn't sleep.
Not because of Marcus—he'd dealt with worse adversaries than a nine-year-old prince with power issues. Not because of the Academy politics or the social dynamics or any of the thousand petty concerns that occupied the other children.
He couldn't sleep because he was bored.
For 847 years, Sol's life had been filled with research, experiments, contracts, political maneuvering, and the constant expansion of knowledge. Even during his most relaxed periods, he'd been reading, learning, analyzing. His curiosity demanded constant feeding.
But now? Now he spent his days pretending to struggle with concepts a bright ten-year-old could grasp. Sitting through lectures on basic magical theory when he could write better textbooks himself. Acting impressed by simple spells that he'd transcended seven centuries ago.
The intellectual starvation was agonizing.
He stared at the ceiling, his four-year-old body comfortable but his ancient mind screaming for stimulation. He could slip out—explore the Academy at night, find the restricted sections of the library, access materials that would actually challenge him.
But that was precisely the kind of reckless action that would get him caught.
Patience, he reminded himself again. Thirty-one days.
His hand drifted to his chest, where he could feel the faint warmth of mana circulating through his developing pathways. He'd been carefully, methodically expanding his pool every night. The growth was steady but maddeningly slow.
On impulse, he extended his senses outward, using a technique he'd developed centuries ago—not quite a spell, more like enhanced perception. It cost almost no mana, just awareness.
And he felt something.
A presence. Distant but distinct. Powerful. Familiar.
Sol sat up carefully, his heart actually racing now. He focused his perception, following that thread of familiar energy. It was like recognizing a voice in a crowd—faint, but unmistakable.
One of the Thirteen.
Close. Within the city, maybe even within the palace grounds.
They're searching for me, Sol realized. They're following whatever trail the Phoenix left, tracking me down.
The presence faded as quickly as it had appeared—whoever it was had moved on, continuing their search pattern. But Sol had felt it. Confirmed it. They were coming.
And they were close.
Thirty-one days had been his calculated estimate for when he'd have enough mana and control to establish a contract connection that could guide them directly to him. But they might find him sooner through their own methods.
Part of him wanted to reach out immediately, to call to them, to end this charade of being a helpless child.
But another part—the part that had survived 847 years through caution and planning—warned against premature action. The Thirteen arriving too early, too publicly, would raise questions. Suspicions. The King would want explanations Sol wasn't ready to provide.
Better to stick to the plan. Let them search. Let them get closer. When the moment was right, Sol would reach out, and the reunion would happen on his terms.
He lay back down, but now his mind was racing with possibilities rather than boredom. The Thirteen were searching. They'd found Alexandria—probably through the same network of contacts and information brokers they'd used for centuries. Now it was just a matter of time.
Across the room, Marcus shifted in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible.
Sol smiled slightly in the darkness.
Enjoy your petty victories while you can, little prince, he thought. In a month—maybe less—everything changes. And you'll learn what it means to threaten someone under my protection.
But even as he thought it, Sol's smile faded.
Because revenge wasn't the goal. Surviving was. Learning was. Eventually reuniting with the Thirteen and rebuilding his life was.
Getting into a power struggle with a nine-year-old prince would be satisfying but pointless. Marcus was a temporary obstacle, nothing more. Sol had kingdoms to study, magic to relearn, contracts to forge, and an entire second life to live.
Marcus wasn't worth his time.
But, a petty part of Sol's mind whispered, it would be so satisfying to watch his face when he realizes who he's been tormenting.
Sol firmly suppressed that thought and returned to meditation, guiding his mana through the careful patterns that promoted growth. His pool expanded fractionally—another fraction of a point toward his distant goals.
[MP: 67.6/67.6]
Progress. Slow, steady, inevitable progress.
Just like the Thirteen closing in.
Just like his second childhood advancing toward something more.
Thirty-one days. Probably less now.
Sol could wait.
He'd waited 847 years to find out what came after death. He'd waited through his own dying, his own rebirth, his own humiliation as a child.
He could wait thirty-one more days.
[Next Morning][Location: Professor Aldwin's Office][Time: Early, Before Classes]
Sol knocked on the heavy oak door, his small knuckles barely making a sound against the ancient wood. A moment later, the door swung open by itself—a simple enchantment that responded to authorized visitors.
Professor Aldwin sat behind an enormous desk covered in books, papers, scrolls, and what appeared to be half a dozen ongoing experiments in various stages of completion. A teacup floated nearby, occasionally drifting to the professor's hand when he reached for it.
"Sol," the professor said without looking up from whatever he was writing. "Punctual. Good trait. Sit."
A chair scooted itself forward, positioning itself at precisely the right height for a four-year-old to sit comfortably.
Sol climbed up and waited while Professor Aldwin finished whatever notation he was making. The office was fascinating—every surface was covered with magical implements, experimental setups, and demonstration models. This was the workspace of someone who genuinely loved magic for its own sake, not for power or status.
Finally, the professor set down his quill and gave Sol his full attention. "You came. I wasn't certain you would."
"You offered to answer questions," Sol said carefully. "I have questions."
"I'm sure you do." Professor Aldwin steepled his fingers. "But let's establish some ground rules first. This is a safe space for intellectual curiosity. You may ask me anything related to magical theory, history, or practice. I will answer honestly and at a level appropriate for your... current situation." The pause before "current situation" was deliberate. "In exchange, you'll be honest with me about why you're asking. Fair?"
Sol considered. The professor was offering exactly what Sol needed—access to advanced knowledge without having to pretend to stumble upon it accidentally. The price was honesty, which was risky but manageable.
"Fair," Sol agreed.
"Excellent." Professor Aldwin's expression softened slightly. "Now, what would you like to know?"
Sol had prepared several safe questions—things a precocious child might ask. But looking at the professor's knowing eyes, he decided to take a calculated risk.
"Contracts," Sol said. "You mentioned them in class as a method for increasing mana capacity. I want to understand how they work. Really work, not just the basic version."
Professor Aldwin was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood, walked to a bookshelf, and pulled out a volume that looked ancient enough to be from Sol's own era. He placed it on the desk between them.
"The Theory and Practice of Binding Agreements," Sol read from the cover. "By Arch-Mage Solomon."
He looked up sharply, his carefully maintained childish expression cracking for just a second.
Professor Aldwin smiled. "Interesting coincidence, isn't it? That someone named Sol would want to read Solomon's work on contracts. Solomon himself was only seventeen when he wrote this—his first published treatise, long before he became the legendary Contractor of the Moving Manor." The professor's eyes were knowing. "I've always found his early work more enlightening than his later writings. Less refined, perhaps, but more honest about the fundamental principles."
Sol stared at the book. His book. Written 830 years ago when he'd been young and ambitious and eager to share knowledge.
"You can borrow it," Professor Aldwin said. "But I expect you to return it in perfect condition. First edition copies are irreplaceable." He paused. "Just like certain individuals sometimes turn out to be."
It wasn't quite an accusation. More like an acknowledgment of possibilities left unspoken.
"Thank you, Professor," Sol said quietly, his hands reverently touching the book's cover. He hadn't seen his own work in physical form since the Manor's library had been—
Since the Manor had fallen.
"Magical theory," Professor Aldwin continued, as if the moment of weighted significance hadn't occurred, "is built on understanding that everything in this world is fundamentally about agreement. Mana responds to will because there's an implicit contract between caster and reality. The better you understand what you're agreeing to, the more sophisticated your magic can become."
He pulled out a piece of chalk and began drawing on a small blackboard.
"This is why I wanted you to come to me rather than sneaking around the library," the professor said. "Self-study is admirable, but without proper foundation, you might develop dangerous gaps in understanding. Even," and here he glanced meaningfully at Sol, "someone with substantial theoretical knowledge needs proper guidance when working with a fundamentally different physical framework."
He knows I'm reincarnated, Sol realized. Or suspects strongly enough that he's proceeding as if it's true.
"How?" Sol asked. "How did you know?"
Professor Aldwin smiled. "I didn't. Not for certain. But I've been teaching for sixty-three years, and I've learned to recognize when someone is pretending to learn rather than actually learning. The way you watch demonstrations—not with confusion but with comparison. The questions you don't ask because you already know the answers. The vocabulary you occasionally use that's more sophisticated than a four-year-old should possess."
He drew a complex runic array on the blackboard.
"And then there's this," he continued. "You made the same small error with the third rune that everyone made before the notation was updated 110 years ago. You drew it the old way, Sol. The way it was taught eight or nine decades before you were born."
Sol exhaled slowly. "What are you going to do?"
"Teach you," Professor Aldwin said simply. "That's my job. Teaching brilliant minds, helping them reach their potential. Whether those minds are housed in appropriate-aged bodies or not is frankly irrelevant to me." He turned back to Sol. "But I do need to know one thing: are you a threat to my students?"
"No," Sol said immediately. "Never."
"Good." The professor returned to his chalk drawing. "Then we have an understanding. You'll attend my office hours regularly. You'll ask your real questions here, where we have privacy. In class, you'll continue to be appropriately childlike. And in exchange, I'll help you relearn what you need to relearn without drawing unwanted attention."
It was more than Sol could have hoped for. A genuine ally who understood, who could help, who wouldn't expose him.
"Why?" Sol asked. "Why help me?"
Professor Aldwin paused in his drawing. "Because once upon a time, I was a young mage who stumbled into something I shouldn't have known about. And someone helped me instead of condemning me. I've been paying that forward for six decades." He smiled. "Besides, I haven't had a truly challenging student in years. You'll keep me sharp."
For the first time since reincarnating, Sol felt something like genuine relief.
He wasn't completely alone anymore.
[End Chapter Nine]
[Status Update][Sol: Days until planned contact with the Thirteen: 30-35 (estimated)][New Ally: Professor Aldwin (confirmed sympathetic)][Threat: Marcus (ongoing)][Development: The Thirteen are actively searching (one sensed nearby)][Note: Progress accelerating]