After twenty minutes of navigating the academy's ever-helpful (and occasionally over-helpful) corridors, deflecting three duel challenges, politely declining to recount his fight with Damus for the seventh time that morning, and somehow ending up in the West Wing twice despite explicitly heading east, Adom finally arrived at his destination. In the East Wing. Where he'd been trying to go all along.

Little victories.

He doubled over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Adom's lungs, he noted with clinical detachment, were definitely not built for this much walking. Adding "cardio" to his mental to-do list, he reached for the classroom door—

BOOM!

"Whoa!"

Adom jumped back instinctively as a wave of purple smoke seeped under the door, bringing with it the distinct smell of burnt sugar and... was that peacock feathers?

Several gasps echoed from within, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass and what sounded suspiciously like something still bubbling.

When he finally opened the door, he found the classroom divided between students hiding behind their cauldrons and others trying very hard not to laugh. In the center of it all stood a girl, her face and robes covered in sparkling purple residue, her notebook now sporting several smoking holes.

Professor Mirwen had an arm around the sniffling girl's shoulders, somehow managing to look both sympathetic and amused.

"Now, now, Miss Chen. As I always say, if you haven't blown up your cauldron at least a hundred times, you haven't really tried. Though I must say, adding the moonflower essence before the stabilizing agent was... a creative interpretation of the instructions."

A few poorly disguised snickers came from the back of the room, quickly silenced by the professor's raised eyebrow.

"Ah, Mr. Sylla," she said, noticing Adom in the doorway. "How kind of you to join us. Please find a seat before someone else discovers an exciting new way to redecorate my classroom ceiling."

Everyone's eyes instinctively looked up at the various colorful stains marking the stone above.

As he stepped inside, the whispers rippled through the classroom like wind through leaves.

"That's him—"

"The one who fought Damus and won—"

"THE Damus?! That skinny kid?"

"I heard he used forbidden magic—"

"Never even talks in class—"

"My sister said he glowed like—"

"Probably just got lucky—"

"Did you see the lightning though?"

Just what kind of person did the rumors make Adom out to be?

"Silence!" Professor Mirwen's voice cut through the chatter. Her eyes settled on Adom, who had just spotted Sam waving enthusiastically from their usual spot near the window.

"It seems you've become quite popular this morning, Mr. Sylla," she said. "I trust it's for good reasons?"

"Always, Professor," Adom replied, trying to channel his younger self's earnestness.

"Good." She nodded, returning to wiping purple residue off Lisa Chen's textbook.

Adom was halfway to his seat when—

"Forgetting something, are we?"

He turned back, perplexed. What was she talking about? His books were in his bag, his wand was... he never used a wand in his second year. His thoughts scattered as he finally noticed what everyone else was wearing. The mandatory protective glasses. Of course. He was about to confess he'd left them in his room when—

"I knew you'd forget," Sam whispered, pressing a spare pair into his hand. "You always do."

"Thanks, Sam" Adom whispered, sliding the glasses on. Sam just grinned, already flipping open his notebook.

"Now then," Professor Mirwen said, finally finishing with Lisa's cleanup, "since Miss Chen has concluded her... energetic presentation, next we have..." She consulted her list. "Ah, Mr. Sylla."

You've got to be kidding me. Adom had barely caught his breath from the morning marathon through the academy's corridors. But there was no helping it now.

As he approached the demonstration desk, Professor Mirwen explained, "You'll be preparing a Resonance Draught today. As you know, a properly brewed potion should create harmonic vibrations when exposed to specific sound frequencies. The liquid must maintain a perfect azure hue and produce three distinct tonal responses when tested. This will account for 25% of your final grade, so do be careful."

Behind him, Lisa's sniffling crescendoed into fresh sobs.

That's it?

He began arranging his instruments with practiced precision.

"Mr. Sylla, please narrate your process for the class."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "First, we need a copper-bottom cauldron for this specific brew - iron would interfere with the sonic resonance. I'm setting the flame to exactly three-quarters strength, as the Resonance Draught requires precise temperature control."

His hands moved with quiet confidence as he spoke. "Adding the base solution - pure spring water with a three-drop measure of morning dew. The dew acts as a natural frequency conductor."

"And why morning dew specifically, Mr. Sylla?" Professor Mirwen interjected, quill poised.

"Because it's naturally attuned to the day's first vibrations, Professor. Evening dew would create discordant frequencies."

He continued, measuring ingredients with fluid grace. "Now, powdered quartz crystal, but it must be added in a spiral pattern to establish the initial resonance field. You can see the liquid beginning to shimmer - that's the crystalline matrix forming."

"Excellent observation. And the timing for the next step?"

"We wait exactly thirty-seven seconds - there's a subtle shift in the surface tension that..." He trailed off, watching intently. "Now. Adding three clockwise stirs with a silver rod, followed by one counterclockwise to stabilize. The color should begin shifting toward azure, starting from the edges."

The class watched as the liquid transformed exactly as described.

"The critical step is the sonic essence," he explained, carefully uncorking a small vial. "It must be added drop by drop while humming a perfect middle C. This creates the base frequency the potion will later respond to."

The liquid rippled with each drop, perfect concentric circles spreading outward as Adom hummed the note.

"And finally," he concluded, "three drops of liquid moonstone to lock the resonance pattern. When done correctly..." He picked up a tuning fork from his kit, struck it, and held it near the cauldron. The potion swirled, producing a clear, pure tone. He adjusted the fork slightly - a different note emerged. One more adjustment - a third distinct tone rang out, each one perfect and crystalline.

Professor Mirwen examined the potion, its azure surface still swirling with subtle iridescence. "That's... rather impressive for a second year. Have you been practicing, Mr. Sylla?"

"A bit lately, yes." For about sixty years, he added mentally.

"Class, take note of Mr. Sylla's precise technique. Twenty out of twenty. You may return to your seat."

As he walked back, the whispers started again:

"Did you see how steady his hands were—"

"Perfect pitch on that humming—"

"Show-off—"

"How did he know about the surface tension—"

Adom slid back into his seat, and Sam immediately leaned over. "Dude, how did you get this good at alchemy?"

"I've always been good at alchemy," Adom reminded him. "It's one of my favorite disciplines."

"You're good, but not that good. That's Mia Storm level good!"

Adom was about to explain when—

"Mr. Harbinsky."

Sam froze mid-whisper.

"Mr. Harbinsky?" Professor Mirwen repeated, more firmly this time.

"...Me?" Sam squeaked.

"Are there two Samenel Harbinsky in this class that I'm unaware of?"

The class erupted in laughter as Sam, his face almost matching the color of his hair, stumbled to his feet and made his way to the front.

Sam's presentation was a study in controlled chaos - he dropped his notes twice, accidentally added ingredients in the wrong order, then somehow saved it with quick thinking and rapid stirring.

His Resonance Draught ended up a shade too turquoise but still produced the required tones, if slightly off-pitch. Professor Mirwen awarded him 16/20, making him beam with pride as several classmates congratulated him on scoring third highest.

The rest of the day flowed like a well-worn stream. In Theoretical Magic, Professor Thane went off on another tangent about the proper geometry of ancient incantations, only to be interrupted by his own demonstration backfiring and turning his mustache bright pink.

During Magical History, half the class dozed off while Professor Hans enthusiastically detailed the Rise of House Borealis in 3832 BR, though they perked up considerably when she mentioned it was likely to appear on next week's test.

At lunch, a malfunctioning spell made the cafeteria's self-serving plates get into an argument with the floating drink pitchers about proper meal sequencing, resulting in several students getting their dessert before their main course.

Adom found himself repeatedly explaining that no, he hadn't used any forbidden magic against Damus, while Sam helpfully deflected the more persistent questioners with increasingly outlandish theories about hamsters being involved.

Where did that even come from?

The afternoon brought Practical Applications class, where a student managed to accidentally merge his chair with his desk while attempting a simple transformation spell. It took three teaching assistants and a very amused Professor Kirna to separate them, though the chair maintained a distinct desk-like aesthetic afterward.

By the time the final bell chimed at 3 PM, Adom had answered forty-seven questions about yesterday's duel, declined twelve more challenges, and somehow acquired a small fan club of first-years who trailed him between classes until Sam scared them off by claiming Adom was contagiously radioactive.

"Library?" Sam asked as they packed their bags. "We could start prepping for the exams. I found this great corner where the bookshelf actually suggests relevant readings based on your stress levels."

"Think I'll pass," Adom said, suppressing a yawn. "Still feeling yesterday in my bones."

"Really?" Sam studied him with genuine concern. "Then yeah, definitely go rest. You look kind of pale anyway."

"Says the guy planning an all-nighter."

"Hey, these runic sequences aren't going to memorize themselves. I still can't tell if Professor Thane was saying 'ethereal manifestation' or 'eternal constipation' in her drawing."

"We'll see each other tomorrow then," Adom said, watching Sam hoist his overstuffed bag. All-nighters, he thought with a slight shudder, remembering the years of caffeine-fueled study sessions that seemed to stretch into eternity. Some experiences he definitely didn't miss from his first time around.

They parted at the corridor junction, Sam heading toward the library's towering spires while Adom turned toward the dormitories.

Adom gratefully shed his school uniform - the black robes, white shirt, tie, waistcoat and his ring that marked him as a Xerkes student - and changed into his own clothes: worn leather boots, comfortable dark pants, a soft gray henley, and his favorite navy blue jacket with brass buttons. Simple, practical clothing that helped him blend in with the city crowds.

Arkhos, the capital of Lumaria, the Borealis Duchy, sprawled across its island like a living thing, equal parts ancient stone and modern innovation. The city had grown around Xerkes Academy over the centuries, until the two became inseparable - much like magic and progress themselves.

Steam-powered trams wound through cobblestone streets. Ancient buildings with their weather-worn gargoyles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with sleek new constructions of glass and steel. The air hummed with both mechanical and magical energy, the scent of sea salt mixing with coffee from countless cafes and the ever-present undertone of alchemical experiments.

In the older district, where the streets still followed their original meandering paths, tourists and locals alike gathered around the preserved Farm of Law - a humble plot of land that had somehow survived millennia of urban development.

Its simple wooden fence and modest farmhouse seemed almost impossible amid the city's grandeur, yet there it stood, protected by both law and legend. Children pressed their faces against the fence, hoping to spot some sign of the mysterious farmer-mage who had reintroduced magic to humanity before vanishing without a trace. Some 3000 years ago.

The markets were in full swing as Adom walked through the city center, where merchants sold everything from mundane vegetables to bottled starlight. Street performers entertained crowds with minor illusions while automated brass musicians played on street corners. Students from Xerkes, easily identifiable by their rings despite their civilian clothes, mingled with the crowd, taking advantage of their freedom to explore the city until classes.

Above it all, the great lighthouse of Arkhos stood sentinel at the island's edge, its eternal flame - said to have been lit by Law Borealis himself - still burning after all these centuries, guiding ships through the often treacherous waters around the Lumaria archipelago that consisted of an impressive 12,025 islands with 4,672 Dungeons scattered throughout.

Adom wandered through familiar streets that existed now only in his memories - and wouldn't exist at all in about forty years when the bombardments began. But today, those same streets pulsed with life: merchants haggling over the price of enchanted trinkets, children playing hopscotch with chalk that changed color with each jump, elderly couples sharing spiced tea at corner cafés.

There were so many restaurants to try here. More than he ever cared to count. But he wanted to discover them.

He stopped at the crowd gathering around a street performer named Old Jack. The man was creating elaborate fire dragons that danced above the audience's heads, weaving between floating rings of blue flame. Adom remembered this act; he used to be so entertained back when he would visit Arkhos with his parents as a kid.

A child in the crowd gasped as a fire butterfly landed on her nose, warm but not burning. "Are you a real mage, mister?"

Jack smiled. "The Seeker's stone turned silver for me when I was your age, little one. Should've gone straight to Xerkes then." He created another butterfly, this one changing colors as it flew. "But I made some bad choices, unfortunately."

The girl's mother pulled her closer, whispering something about "generational opportunity" and "secure future." It was true - having a mage or knight in the family meant wealth and status for generations to come.

It was why the Empire sent Seekers every five years to test children across every province, every island, every remote city and village. Missing a potential mage was considered a tragedy.

The crowd applauded as Jack's dragons performed one final spiral before dissolving into a shower of harmless sparks. Some things, Adom mused, had a way of working out differently than expected. He dropped a coin in Jack's hat - for the nostalgia - and continued his walk through the living city.

It was still so entertaining.

Here, a fish seller chasing a cat that had made off with his prized catch, over there, on the left, an old man feeding pigeons some breadcrumbs. A beggar sat in his usual spot, his sign reading "Will do magic tricks for food"

Then there was the Weird Stuff Store.

Yes, that was literally its name. Someone, presumably the first Mr. Biggins, had looked at their shop five centuries ago and thought "yes, this is the pinnacle of creative naming." The current Mr. Biggins, from the long line of Mr. Biggins, was supposedly the 102nd owner, though nobody quite knew how that math worked out.

You could buy regular candy bars right next to Levitating Licorice that actually tried to float away if you didn't hold onto it tight enough. They sold ordinary sandwiches alongside things like Pocket Dimensions (Small Size, Perfect for Lunch Storage!) and Crystallized Dragon Sneezes, a sort of spicy candy. Very sour at the start, and very sweet in the middle, only to end up even more sour at the end and make you sneeze fire from the nose.

No longer regulatory.

Suffice to say, a lot of the other things in the Weird Stuff Store were no longer regulatory compliant these days for obvious reasons, yet, the store kept selling them. And people kept buying. And no problem ever arose.

Then there were the Frosties - hundred flavors of frozen heaven (or hell, depending on your choices). Adom and Sam had tried every combination possible. Cloud Nine mixed with Summer Sunset had been their masterpiece, and "Lightning in a Cup" - Storm Essence and Rainbow Rush that actually made you feel tiny lightning bolts crackle between your teeth.

But enough nostalgia. He had a cure to find.

*****

Beneath the gleaming spires of the merchant district and well past where cobblestone streets gave way to mud paths, there was a part of the island that tourist guides conveniently forgot to mention. Even most locals pretended it didn't exist, though everyone had heard the whispers.

The Undertow, they called it.

Funny thing about the Sundarian Empire - they didn't actually mind the illegal trading, the smuggling, or even the occasional theft of priceless artifacts. What really got under their skin was that sweet, sweet tax revenue slipping through their fingers. When investigations revealed that the Undertow's annual turnover equaled roughly 5% of the entire Empire's economy... well, let's just say a lot of bureaucrats needed their fainting couches that day.

It had been around for centuries, they discovered. All the way back to the 23rd Duke of House Borealis.

A sprawling web of underground markets and secret warehouses, spreading beneath every major city in the Empire. Merchants who could get you anything from legitimate artifacts to things that definitely "fell off the back of a cart."

Need a banned spellbook? They had those.

Experimental potions that hadn't quite gotten Ministry approval? Sure thing.

Regular stuff too, though nobody went there for that - why brave the Undertow's dangers just to buy something you could get at the corner store?

Adom had never ventured there himself - in this life at least.

Though he knew that in about three decades, when the final bombing of Arkhos would tear open the ground like an overripe fruit, everyone would see what had been lurking beneath their feet all along. A whole shadow economy, complete with its own rules, hierarchies, and a very strict "no questions asked" policy.

The Empire had tried to shut it down countless times, of course.

But trying to catch Undertow operators was like trying to grab smoke - just when you thought you had them, they slipped away through hidden passages and secret doors that seemed to appear and disappear at will. Not that the Empire's heart was really in it.

As long as the goods kept flowing and society kept functioning, they mostly just grumbled about the lost tax revenue and pretended not to notice.

After all, even some of their own officials were known to make discrete purchases there from time to time. Not that anyone would admit it, of course.

The best way into the Undertow - if you were either brave or desperate enough to try - was through the Dregs, the lowest part of Arkhos in every sense of the word. Down where the city's grand floating platforms cast permanent shadows on the streets below, where the air hung thick with factory smoke and failed enchantments.

The Dregs weren't just poor - they were forgotten. The bottom rung of a city that prided itself on soaring ever higher. Here, buildings sagged against each other like rotting teeth, their walls stained with the residue of magical waste that rained down from above.

Street kids played with broken enchanted trinkets while their parents worked jobs the upper districts preferred not to think about.

Adom had always been one of the fortunate ones. His father had started as just another fortune-seeking adventurer, but year after year of successful expeditions into dungeons had built him both wealth and reputation.

Enough of both that he'd eventually traded his adventuring gear for a knight's ceremonial sword, while his mother's healing magic kept noble families paying in gold and favors.

They were the kind of rich that meant Adom had never had to think about being rich - the kind that got him into Xerkes without a scholarship, that kept him far from places like this and the sharp lessons they taught.

The kind of rich that made him an obvious target for the boy currently sizing him up from the shadows.

Three...

Adom kept walking, pretending not to notice.

Two...

The soft scuff of worn boots behind him.

One...

"Aha!"

His hand snapped back, catching a bony wrist mid-reach. The would-be thief couldn't have been more than thirteen - all angles and hungry eyes, wearing clothes that looked like they'd been inherited from inheritance.

"Why, hello there," Adom said. "You know, you could have just asked."

"Let go!" the boy hissed, trying to twist free from Adom's grip.

Adom released him, watching with barely concealed entertainment as the pickpocket stumbled back, face flushed with equal parts anger and embarrassment. "You might want to work on being a bit quieter. I could hear you breathing from three steps away."

The boy's face darkened, jaw clenching. "Shut up. I'm the best pickpocket in the Dregs."

Is he... proud of that?

"Is that so? The best don't usually announce it," Adom finally. "They prove it."

The boy's mouth twitched in irritation.

"You know what though?" Adom continued. "Since you're the best, you probably know your way around here pretty well."

"Depends what you're looking for."

"I need to meet someone. Man named Cisco."

The boy let out a dry laugh. "Right. Some pampered rich kid thinks he can just waltz in to meet Cisco?"

"One silver piece."

The boy's stance shifted slightly, words stumbling. "That's not—"

"Two. Three if you can do it today."

"Ten," the boy said, crossing his arms. "And I'll take you straight to him."

"You think a boy my age would be walking around with ten silver pieces?"

"How much you got then?"

"Three. Final offer."

"Fine," the boy huffed. "Pay up."

"Ah ah ah," Adom waggled his finger. "Wouldn't be very smart of me to pay before getting what I'm paying for, would it?"

"Half now, half after."

"And how do I trust you?"

The boy straightened his spine, chin lifting. His voice dropped an octave, attempting gravitas. "I may be a thief—"

"A bad one."

"—shut up!" His shoulders tensed, but he recovered, clearing his throat. "But I am not. A liar." Each word carried the weight of practiced nobility, like he'd heard it in a street performance once and saved it for just such an occasion.

Adom's eyebrow arched slightly. A beat passed.

Then another.

His laugh was short and sharp. "Really? That's what you're going with?"

The boy's attempt at dignity crumbled. His ears turned red first, then the rest of his face followed. "I—just—stop laughing! I meant every word!"

The theatrical solemnity of moments before lay in shambles around his feet.

"Do you need me or not?" the boy snapped, fists clenched at his sides.

"Alright, alright, calm down. Damn, you have no sense of humor, do you?"

Adom flicked a silver coin through the air. The boy snatched it mid-flight, then frowned at his palm. "This isn't half."

"I may be a clown," Adom intoned, matching the boy's earlier theatrical gravity with exaggerated precision, "a good one—but I am not a liar."

The boy let out a long-suffering sigh.

"You'll get the rest when I meet Cisco."

They wound their way deeper into the Dregs, Adom taking in everything with careful eyes. This was his first time here - in this life, or the other - and the reality hit harder than the stories. Shadows seemed deeper here, clothes more threadbare, hopes worn thinner. A woman stirred a pot that seemed to hold more water than ingredients. Children played with broken trinkets that still sparked with dying magic, while their parents watched from doorways with hollow eyes.

The contrast with the upper districts felt like a physical thing, heavy in the air. A few hard-eyed men sized him up from an alley entrance - expensive clothes, clean hands, easy target - but Adom kept his gaze down, staying close to his guide. Not too close though. His fingers remained near his coin purse.

"So," Adom said, stepping around a puddle that smelled nothing like water, "do you have a name, or should I just call you Pickpocket?"

"Don't call me that," the boy muttered, earning Adom's confusion.

I thought he was proud of that. Huh. Not totally hopeless, I guess.

"I'm... uh, Barn."

"Barn?" Adom glanced at the weathered sign of the tavern they'd just passed - 'Barns & Targ' - and bit back a smile. "You definitely didn't just get that from—"

"Of course not!"

"Eren! Eren, you're back!"

A group of smaller children came tearing around the corner, faces lit up with gap-toothed grins. They swarmed around them, tugging at the boy's sleeves. "Do you have some cookies from your mom today? Can we see? Did you—"

Eren's face had gone the color of old chalk.

Adom cleared his throat, adopting the same noble gravity Eren had attempted earlier. "I am not a liar."

"Shut up."

"Not now, you guys," Eren continued. "I'm working. But I'll bring you all some cookies when I'm done, alright? Promise."

"You always say that!" a tiny girl with missing front teeth protested.

"Did I break my promise last time, Maya?" He ruffled her hair. "Or the time before that, Tim?"

"Pinky promise?" A small boy with a soot-streaked face held up his finger.

"Pinky promise, Rook." Eren linked fingers with him, then looked meaningfully at the others until a chain of pinky promises had been made.

"Is he your job?" Maya pointed at Adom.

Before Eren could answer, Adom stepped forward. "Yeah. Name's Law."

"Law? Like the farmer mage from the stories?" Tim's eyes went wide.

"Just like that. Hey, would you all like some candies?"

"You have candies?" Several pairs of eyes locked onto him.

Adom reached into his pocket, pulling out a paper bag from the shop he'd visited earlier. The children crowded around as he handed them out. "These are some special candies."

"Thank you, thank you!" They chorused, sticky fingers already working at the wrappers. Maya immediately popped hers in her mouth, cheeks bulging. Tim carefully wrapped his back up, probably saving it for later.

Rook split his in half, offering the other piece to Eren.

Eren glanced at the offered half-candy, then flicked Rook's forehead. "Heh. Keep it. You're skinny enough already."

The liitle boy rubbed his forehead, pouting, but quickly popped the candy in his mouth before Eren could change his mind.