Chapter 8

The meadow on the Cooper family estate was a graveyard of ambition. Tall, wild grass choked the earth, and the spaces between the thick, ancient trunks of the perimeter were crowded with leggy young saplings. It looked like a forest trying to swallow itself, yet there was a strangeness to the geography. Ethan stood in the center of a clearing, his hands on his hips, grinning like a boy who had just discovered a hidden treasure. "Here we are! What do you think?" Julian stepped carefully through a patch of thorns, his eyes scanning the treeline. He wasn't looking at the scenery; he was looking at the boundary. "I wonder what's keeping the saplings confined to that ring of trees," Julian said, pointing toward the edge where the growth stopped abruptly. "This meadow should be a copse of trees by now. Something is suppressing the spread." Ethan's grin didn't falter, though he didn't look toward the anomaly. "It's my land. Or rather, it's part of the Cooper family estates." Julian wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. The air here felt heavy, saturated with something he couldn't quite name. "Your home is pretty close from here, isn't it?" Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "You know where I live?" Julian snorted, kicking a clump of dirt. "Of course I know where you live. Who doesn't know where the Cooper estate is located?" He kept his voice dismissive, feigning that it was common knowledge rather than information gleaned from his previous loops. Ethan was easy to distract if you poked at his pride or his status, and Julian needed to keep the focus off his own foreknowledge. "So," Julian continued, crossing his arms and leaning back against a stump. "Is the great Cooper going to help me learn combat magic like he promised or not?" Ethan laughed, a short, sharp sound. Without a word, he raised a hand. The ground ten paces away groaned. Clods of earth and wet mud began to swirl, rising from the tall grass as if pulled by invisible strings. Within seconds, three roughly humanoid shapes stood in the clearing. They were faceless, thick-limbed, and dripping with mire. "It's not as impressive as it looks," Ethan said, waving a hand toward the constructs. "They're nearly useless in actual battle. They make good targets though, since they're pretty resilient and reform each time you mess them up." Julian opened his mouth to ask about the Spell Matrix for such a feat, but he never got the chance. Ethan simply pointed a finger at the furthest construct. A flash of light tore through the air—a perfect, high-velocity Arcane Bolt. There was no chant. No complex weaving of fingers. No shimmering geometric pattern of a Spell Matrix manifesting in the air. The bolt impacted the mud-man's chest, blowing a hole through its torso that showered the grass in sludge. Julian stood frozen, his eyes wide. "The Arcane Bolt! No chant, no gestures, no Spell Matrix, no nothing! You just pointed your finger at the target and produced an Arcane Bolt!" Ethan shrugged, looking almost bored. "That's just reflexive magic. When you cast a spell enough times—" "—Mana shaping becomes instinctive and you can start leaving out spell components," Julian finished for him, his voice barely above a whisper. "But getting a spell to work with something as simple as pointing a finger would take years!" He looked at the mud-man, which was already beginning to pull earth from the ground to fill the gap in its chest. "This time travel thing is really convenient, isn't it? How many reflexive spells do you have, anyway?" Ethan leaned back, counting off on his fingers with a smug confidence that made Julian's teeth ache. "Shield, hurl, recall, flamethrower, and a couple of other easy combat spells." Julian stared at the muddy constructs, his stomach sinking. He was a third-year student struggling to get his casting time down by fractions of a second, and here was a boy who could cast high-level combat spells as easily as breathing. "So where do we start?" Julian asked, his voice souring as he pulled his own Rune Rod from his belt. "Owen gave you a Rune Rod and told you to practice Arcane Bolt, didn't he?" Ethan asked. "He did." "Well, let's see how that's working out for you first," Ethan said, gesturing toward the mud constructs. "Fire a couple of missiles at the mud people." "Mud people?" Julian echoed, his lip curling. "Is that—" "I kind of forgot the official name of the spell, so I just refer to it as 'Create Mud People,'" Ethan interrupted, waving the concern away. "It doesn't matter all that much since the spell is obscure and obsolete, and virtually no one except me uses it." Julian adjusted his grip on the Rune Rod, focusing his intent. He channeled mana through the conduit, feeling the familiar hum of the wood. *Arcane Bolt.* A shining missile of force streaked from the tip of the rod, striking the central mud-man in the shoulder. Julian didn't stop, pivoting his wrist to fire a second, then a third. Each hit was precise, tearing chunks out of the earthen targets. Ethan whistled, sounding genuinely surprised. "You've only been practicing, what, for a couple of days? And you can direct your bolts already? You're a lot better than I thought you'd be." Julian lowered the rod, his breath hitching slightly. "And why is that?" "How many Arcane Bolts can you cast before you run out of mana?" Ethan asked, tilting his head. "Ten," Julian answered. He paused, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "Ah. Normally learning time corresponds to mana capacity, doesn't it?" "Yup!" Ethan popped the 'p'. "The bigger your mana reserves, the longer you can train each day. It means mages with larger reserves tend to learn faster than their less gifted compatriots." "Assuming everyone is equally dedicated and equally good at shaping mana," Julian muttered, his analytical mind already trying to find a workaround for his own limitations. Ethan stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the grass. "Do you know how many Arcane Bolts I can cast before I run out of mana?" Julian looked at the ease with which Ethan had summoned the mud constructs and the reflexive bolt. "Fifty?" "Two hundred and thirty-two." Julian felt the air leave his lungs. "What?" "Two hundred and thirty-two," Ethan repeated, beaming with triumph. "Admittedly I'm at the extreme high end when it comes to mana reserves. And unlike you, I've spent years building them up, so they're as high as they're ever going to be. Still, even if you had a lifetime of practice, you'd probably never go over forty. That would make my reserves almost six times larger than yours. Quite a disadvantage to make up for." Julian looked down at his Rune Rod. He felt like a man trying to put out a forest fire with a cup of water while standing next to a god of rain. "No kidding. I'm guessing that's where you come in. Unless you've brought me here just to tell me how much I suck compared to you?" Ethan barked a laugh. "Hah! I admit the look on your face when you realized how awesome I am was absolutely priceless, but that's just a bonus." He reached out, his fingers glowing with a soft, pale amber light. Before Julian could flinch, Ethan tapped him on the forehead. The world vanished. Then it rushed back, but it was wrong. Julian gasped, his hands flying to his eyes. The meadow was no longer just grass and trees. It was a chaotic tapestry of flowing colors. Thin ribbons of mana drifted through the air like smoke, and every living thing pulsed with a dim, internal light. But looking north, toward the city, Julian saw it. A pillar of blinding, raw energy roared into the sky, so massive it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves. "That's how the Pit looks like under mage sight?" Julian whispered, his voice trembling. "Magnificent, isn't it?" Ethan said, his voice sounding distant through the roar of the mana geyser in Julian's ears. "Watching that huge geyser of mana rising into the sky always puts things into perspective for me." Julian shook his head, trying to clear the visual static. "Mage sight shouldn't work in Veridia, though. Too much ambient mana saturating everything. Why aren't I blinded by painful glow emanating from everything in sight?" "It's an experimental variation that tries to filter out such 'noise', showing only the important stuff," Ethan explained. Julian could see the mana in Ethan's body—it was a dense, swirling storm compared to his own flickering candle. "It's not terribly reliable, but it will do for our purposes." "Those being?" Julian asked, still staring at the geyser. "I'll cast Arcane Bolt repeatedly and you'll watch what I'm doing for a while before trying to copy me," Ethan said, his voice taking on a rare instructive tone. "I'll be using the proper invocation this time, and go at it as slowly as I can. Try to memorize the words and gestures, because you'll be using them instead of the rod Owen gave you. A Rune Rod is more useful in combat, but for training purposes it's better to work with actual invocations." For the next hour, Julian watched. Through the filtered mage sight, he saw the way Ethan's mana coiled in his throat as he spoke the ancient words, how it flowed down his arm and snapped into a rigid matrix at his fingertips. It was a mechanical beauty Julian had never imagined. He memorized the cadence of the chant, the precise angle of the wrist, and the way the mana had to be 'sharpened' before release. When Julian tried it without the rod, his first few attempts fizzled into nothing but sparks. It was grueling. Without the rod's assistance, the mana wanted to dissipate the moment it left his skin. But he persisted. By the time his mana was spent—his ten-bolt limit reached—he had managed to produce a single, shaky bolt that traveled five feet before winking out. As the sun began to set, Julian walked back to his apartment, the experimental mage sight having faded into a dull headache. His mind was racing. He couldn't beat Ethan. Not at mana capacity, not at reflexive casting, and not at the raw speed of a mage who had lived a decade in a loop. If he wanted to stop the invasion, if he wanted to survive the lich and the assassins, he couldn't just be a 'better' version of a student. He had to be something else. He had to find the secret behind the loop itself. Perhaps Stella Vance was the key. He needed a different perspective on magic—something academic and deep rather than just the brute-force combat training Ethan provided. But for now, he needed the strength Ethan could give him. Julian delayed approaching Stella for two weeks. Every afternoon, he met Ethan in the meadow. They worked until Julian's head throbbed from mana exhaustion. Under Ethan's tutelage, the shaky bolts became solid. He learned to curve the mana—the *Homing Arcane Bolt*. He learned to snap a flat plane of force into existence—the *Aegis*. He even managed to produce a sustained gout of fire—the *Flamethrower*—though it drained him so fast he could only hold it for three seconds. The progress was intoxicating, but the social cost was rising. They were in the newly renovated cafeteria, the scent of fresh wood and stew hanging in the air. Julian noticed a couple of students at a nearby table glancing at them, whispering. One of them, a girl with a pile of books, was staring at Ethan with a mix of awe and suspicion. "What am I supposed to tell them?" Julian hissed, leaning over his tray. "I can't exactly tell them you're a time traveler." Ethan shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and spoke while chewing. "Why not? Time travel. It's what I say every time they ask me how I got this good." Julian blinked. "You actually tell them you're a time traveler?" "Yeah," Ethan said, swallowing. "What's the worst that could happen? They don't believe me, or they think I'm crazy. Either way, they stop asking." Julian sighed, rubbing his temples. "This could have all been avoided if you just held back a little in classes. You're drawing targets on both our backs." "I kind of like the attention," Ethan admitted, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. "Really?" Julian said, his voice flat. "I'm only going through this once and I'm already sick of it. You're saying the novelty of all that attention still hasn't worn off after, what, more than a decade?" Ethan's smile faded slightly, and he looked out the window at the academy grounds. "Oh come on, do you really think I spend these reverts attending classes, of all things? That got seriously old after the third revert or so. I spend most of the time doing my own thing. Hell, usually I'm not even near Veridia! I only attend the classes when I want to relax or when I am feeling nostalgic. The only reason why I'm here right now is because I got kind of roughed up in my last revert and I'm still trying to sort out the holes in my memory. Oh, and because you've kind of caught my interest." Julian paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Why did I catch your interest, though? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but how come you're willing to invest so much time in me? Isn't it all going to be useless in the next revert?" Ethan looked at him, his expression suddenly serious. "That's a pretty cold way of thinking about things. I don't really think like that. I've tried to get to know all of our classmates in these reverts, even though some of them were pretty uncooperative with the idea, and I've never thought of it as a waste of time. This is the first time I've gotten you this friendly, and I have no idea what exactly I did to cause that. It's best to make use of it while I can." Julian chewed slowly, digesting the words. He felt a strange pang of something he didn't want to identify. To Ethan, he was a variable that had finally turned favorable. "I see." "I really do wonder about you, though," Ethan continued, leaning in, his exuberant energy returning. "You're so different from the Julian I knew, I'm starting to wonder if you're really the same person." Julian felt a jolt of panic. "Who else would I be?" "I think I may have shifted timelines, or something," Ethan said, waving a hand dismissively as if suggesting it might rain. "Or something," Julian deadpanned. "Whaaat? It could happen. Do you know how temporal mechanics work? No? Didn't think so." "I did look up a couple of books about time travel after our first meeting," Julian said, trying to regain some footing in the conversation. Ethan snorted loudly, drawing more looks from the nearby tables. "And learned nothing. It's a total wasteland. All they write about is various ethical dilemmas and time paradoxes and whatnot. That was the first and last time I set foot in the academy library, let me tell you." Julian stared at him. "That was a joke, right?" "Which part?" "The part where you only visited the academy library once." "Err, well..." Ethan looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking very nervous. "What can I say? I don't really like to read..." "You've clearly read our textbooks," Julian challenged. "There's no way you'd excel as well as you do otherwise." "Yeah, well, I didn't say I don't read at all," Ethan said, his voice becoming defensive. "Just that I'd rather avoid it if I can. I learn much better by example anyway." Julian watched him, the pieces clicking together. Ethan didn't spend his loops in the library researching the mechanics of the time travel that trapped him. He spent them looking for people. "So you learn primarily by mentorship? I'm surprised you can convince mages to teach you in less than a month. Don't they all require apprenticeships lasting for several years before they'll agree to teach you anything useful?" Ethan's confidence returned in a flash. "Well, usually. But I'm the last Cooper, don't you know? I had highly respectable mages tripping over themselves to teach me my whole life. Usually I just have to show up and tell them who I am and they're all too happy to help me out." Julian forced a smile. "Convenient." A wave of bitter jealousy washed over him. While Julian spent his days working as a library assistant and scraping for every scrap of knowledge, Ethan simply walked through doors opened by a dead family name. It was an advantage Julian would never have. But he shoved the feeling down. Ethan was friendly, and Ethan was useful. If Ethan wouldn't do the research, then Julian would. He would use Ethan's combat training to stay alive, and his own mind to break the cycle. The next day, Julian walked into Ms. Albright's office. Stella Vance was behind her desk, a stack of parchment in front of her. She looked up as Julian entered, a knowing smile touching her lips. "Take a seat, mister Hayes. I sort of suspected I'd be seeing you soon." Julian sat, his posture stiff. "You did?" "Oh yes. Usually students come knocking at my door immediately after a single session with Arthur. You actually waited until the second one, so points for patience." "Right," Julian said, his voice sour. "I can't transfer you to another mentor at this time, though," Stella said, her tone firm but not unkind. "So I'm afraid you'll just have to bear with him for now." "I sort of expected that," Julian said. "It's not what I'm here for." Stella paused, her quill hovering over a document. "No?" "No. Since everything I've heard and experienced about Arthur suggests we'll never progress beyond the basic three, I've decided to be proactive about self-study. I've been hoping for some pointers from you—where I should start, what I should watch out for, that sort of thing." Stella leaned back, tapping her chin. "It's hard to give that sort of advice, mister Hayes. That's why the academy gives students mentors—because there is no one-size-fits-all solution. I suppose I could give you advice about my own subject, though. How good are you at the basic three?" "Depends who you ask," Julian said dryly. "Most of the teachers from my second year told me I had them mastered. Arthur says I'm a shame to mages everywhere." Stella reached into a bowl on her desk, pulled out a small wooden sphere, and set it on the table. "Levitate that." Julian focused. He didn't use the rod. He used the shaping techniques Ethan had shown him, the ones that emphasized internal flow over external crutches. The sphere rose smoothly, hovering six inches above the wood. Then, Julian gave it a gentle flick of his will, making it spin rapidly on its axis while maintaining its height. Stella's eyes brightened. "Oh, so you can already spin the levitated object? I bet Arthur was very happy with that." "No," Julian said, dropping the sphere back into the bowl. "Don't tell me learning those is standard procedure?" "Not like Arthur is teaching them," Stella said, her voice carrying a hint of disapproval for her colleague. "But yes, most mentors will give students variations of the basic three to improve their shaping skills." "And how many of those variations are there?" Julian asked. "Oh, thousands," Stella said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a slim, leather-bound volume. She slid it across the desk. "But most students only learn six or so by the end of their third year. Here." Julian picked up the book. It was titled *The Foundations of Complex Shaping*. He flipped through the pages, seeing diagrams of mana flows that made his head spin. "Let me guess: you want me to learn everything inside this book." Stella laughed. "That would be a pretty neat trick. Didn't you hear what I said? Most people learn six or less... in a year. You'll probably be finished with the academy by the time you've learned everything inside that book. Assuming you want to, of course—I'm not making you do anything." Julian looked at the list of variations. Fifteen. He thought about the upcoming Sunstone Festival. He thought about the red bolt that had killed Ethan and the lich that had ended the world. "Six in a year, huh?" Julian murmured. "That's right," Stella said. Julian looked her in the eye. "So what if I could master all fifteen before this month is done?" Stella blinked, then she laughed again, a bright, amused sound. "My, aren't you the confident one? If you were really that good, I'd fill out the transfer forms right now, regulations be damned, and take you as my apprentice. I'd never pass up an opportunity to teach such a legend in the making. Not that I think you could do it, mind you." "We'll see," Julian said, tucking the book under his arm. He left the office with a clear goal. He didn't have the mana of a Cooper, and he didn't have a decade of experience, but he had the loop. If he could master these fifteen variations, his control over mana would be leagues ahead of any other student. It was the foundation he needed for the more advanced spells he was learning with Ethan. He returned to his room and opened the book to the first exercise he hadn't mastered: *Vertical Levitation*. It required maintaining a precise, oscillating height while the weight of the object was artificially increased by the mage's own mana. He began to practice, but as he struggled to keep a small inkwell from slamming into the floor, he realized the clock was ticking. The Sunstone Festival was approaching, and with it, the end of this revert. He wouldn't master all fifteen this time. But the next loop? The next loop he would be ready. He just had to survive the dance lessons first. ════════════════════════════════════════