Scratches covered the kid’s arms and face, and bushes and branches had torn his old-fashioned clothes.

  “▉▉▉▉▉…” said the kid who looked like twelve years old at most, coming to a stop and seeing the wolf behind Michael before speaking in a trembling tone, “…▉▉▉” the meaning of the words hitting Michael: They are trying to kill me… I.. I will compensate you.

  Immediately, a group of about a dozen men came out. The first few were using leather armor and short swords. There was one archer at the back next to a tall man in full plate armor with a longsword in his scabbard. They all stopped at the border of the clearing as Michael focused on them and not on the kid while raising his gun at the nearest one.

  “Please…” he heard behind him.

  “▉▉▉▉▉.” yelled the leader as the archer behind him notched an arrow, and 3 of the leather-armored men bolted towards Michael with short swords drawn.

  “STOP!” Michael screamed, aiming for the midsection of the nearest soldier, a few seconds away from him. The enemy commander, a middle-aged guy with a mix of plate and chain mail, raised a confused face at Michael’s scream.

  A dim blue spherical wall appeared before him, and it immediately shattered like glass that vanished into the wind by an arrow that fell at Michael’s feet. Unfrozen, he lowered his aim by a few degrees and pulled the trigger twice - BANG! BANG! -

  “AHHHH,” screamed the stumbling soldier, his thigh pierced by one of the shots. The other two stopped in their tracks, looking at Michael like a unicorn.

  Michael looked back to see the kid’s hands glowing the same color as the phenomenon, but they dimmed quickly.

  Not stopping, Michael aimed at the startled archer who was pulling an arrow out of his quiver. Dropping the arrow in panic, the archer went for his chest, where a necklace rested. A new hemisphere appeared around the enemy, except this time a bit brighter and defined as light escaped between the gaps of the archer’s fingers around the pendant. It made it much more spectacular as Michael shot again. Shattering the new construct and the necklace, simultaneously embedding glass-like shards into his palm. Still, this time it did not stop the projectile, which hit the archer in the stomach below the navel.

  Michael quickly stepped back while aiming at the leader, whose eyes widened as he shouted, “▉▉▉▉!” All of them were turning around and running away from Mike.

  I need to leave. Now!

  Grabbing the kid by the forearm with his injured hand, he ran opposite to where the soldiers headed. Thinking of the place that brought him the most comfort, as he saw the black ring growing in front of him, leading to some dark place.

  Without hesitation, he ran through while dragging the little blond kid, whose jaw dropped, almost getting whiplash while being pulled by a mysterious man into a dark portal.

  The portal closed just as quickly as it had opened when he was on the other side. What the hell was that?! He started having many thoughts about how this all happened while looking for the light switch on the wall.

  “Ah,” the startled kid gasped as the lights turned on. He could see his savior, a hand resting on a rectangular white protrusion on the wall.

  “Wait here,” he said to the kid who remained unresponsive and stood in the corner of the garage. Michael saw that the kid was not going to move when he went to the kitchen. How the hell do I deal with this? He grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge before heading back to the garage.

  “Here, drink,” he said while opening the water bottle and miming the act of drinking and giving it to the kid, who grabbed it with both hands as if it were a relic.

  “You want me to drink it?” Hearing this, Michael concluded that only he could understand the kid and not the other way around. He nodded, and the kid drank it to the last drop as he finished drinking the bottle, deformed from the suction.

  “I am sorry, I did not know it was fragile.” The kid apologised as he bowed down. “I will repay you for all you have done, Mister Arcanist.”

  Michael tried to reassure the kid by grabbing the bottle and throwing it into the trash can.

  Michael checked the time and felt his stomach tighten about an hour before his parents got home.

  He looked at the boy again-mud on his clothes, scratches on his arms, eyes too alert for someone his age-and tried to process what had just happened. A dozen armed men, an archer, and that blue barrier that had flashed into existence for a heartbeat before shattering like glass. He had done that. Michael was sure of it. The glow had come from the kid’s hands. It had protected him… and even the men trying to kill him.

  And yet Michael had still understood the pleas as if the meaning had been poured straight into his mind, while the others’ shouting had been nothing but noise. One-way understanding. No clue why.

  He didn’t have time to solve it. He needed to hide the child.

  Michael guided him into the kitchen and turned on the faucet, keeping his movements slow and nonthreatening. With a little miming, he got the boy to wash his hands with warm water and soap. He watched the water run as if it were an illusion, then scrubbed more carefully than anyone Michael had ever seen, wincing when the soap stung the scratches on his arms but refusing to pull away.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  When Michael dried his hands with a paper towel, the kid stared down at his own fingers afterward, flexing them as if he expected them to be different-like the simple act of cleaning had done something to him.

  Michael opened a portal to the attic and stepped through to demonstrate. When he returned a second later, causing the startled kid to inhale sharply, eyes fixed on the black circle as if it were a living thing. Michael motioned again, this time firm, and the boy obeyed.

  Once he was up there, Michael went to his room, grabbed an extra pillow and blanket, and carried them into the attic. He pulled out the inflatable bed already stored there and plugged in the electric pump.

  As it whirred to life and the mattress began to rise on its own, the kid’s eyes widened. He took a cautious step closer, watching the vinyl swell like a living thing, filling with breath.

  Michael patted the top of it, firm but springy, and then pointed down.

  “Sit,” he said, more command than request, and mimed lowering himself onto an invisible chair.

  After hesitating, he lowered himself onto the edge, as it might bite. The moment the air-shifting cushion gave under his weight, his balance wobbled, and he froze, startled. He pressed a palm down, then another, feeling the bed push back. A slow, incredulous smile tugged at his face before he caught it and tried to look serious again.

  “Shh,” Michael hushed while putting his index finger in front of his lips.

  “Quiet,” he whispered, tapping the attic hatch below them, then pointing down toward the house and miming a walking person with index and middle fingers walking on his other hand. He mimed sleeping, hands together under his cheek.

  His gaze flicked to the hatch, then to Michael. He nodded once, tight and obedient.

  Good enough.

  Michael shut the attic light, stepped back through a portal, and let it close behind him. Only then did he allow himself to breathe like a person again.

  He cleaned up what he could downstairs, kept the garage door locked, and spent the rest of the evening moving like a thief in his own home. Listening for every creak, every step, every cough from his parents as they arrived.

  When they finally went to bed, Michael still didn’t sleep. Not really. He lay staring at the ceiling, hearing echoes of gunshots and shouting and the brittle crack of that blue barrier in his head.

  Somewhere above him, a kid, most likely from another world, was trying not to make a sound.

  Morning came in gray light through the blinds, and the smell of coffee drifted under his door.

  Michael waited.

  He listened to the routine-his dad’s keys, the front door, his mom’s voice calling goodbye as they split up. A car started, and another started a minute later. Then silence.

  Only then did he move.

  He made breakfast fast, hands working on autopilot: scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles. Simple comfort food, loud in smell and soft in effort. When the plates were ready, he opened a portal from the kitchen to the attic.

  The guest appeared on the other side, sitting upright on the inflatable mattress as he’d never dared to relax. His hair was messy. His eyes locked onto the food immediately.

  Michael crooked a finger. “Come.”

  Obeying, he stepped through, glancing around the kitchen as if expecting traps. Michael guided him to the dining table and pointed at the chair, then the plate.

  “Eat.” He mimed chewing, then shoved a fork gently toward him.

  Michael started eating first, and then the guest picked up the utensils and began eating.

  The first mouthful made him pause mid-chew. His eyes widened slightly, and he kept chewing as if afraid the taste would vanish. The bacon got a second look. The eggs disappeared in careful, steady bites. Then the waffles.

  He stared at the syrup as if it were alchemy. Michael poured it for him.

  The child took a tentative bite.

  His expression broke. It wasn’t loud, just a stunned, helpless kind of delight that he tried to bury immediately by looking down at the plate and eating faster.

  Michael watched him for a second and felt something twist in his chest.

  Okay. Later. Focus.

  After breakfast, Michael cleared the table and sat across from him, hands flat on the wood like he was about to negotiate with a hostage.

  “Michael,” he said, pointing to himself. “Mi-cha-el. Michael.”

  “Mikael?”

  Michael nodded. Close enough.

  He pointed at the kid. “You.”

  The boy straightened reflexively, posture snapping into place like a trained habit. “Elion,” he said, then paused, weighing something. His chin lifted a fraction.

  “My name is Elion Valorian,” he continued carefully, as if speaking it properly mattered. “Prince of the Kingdom of Valoria.”

  Michael went still.

  “…What?!” he said louder than intended.

  Elion’s face paled. “I-I did not mean to boast,” he rushed out, hands lifting in a placating gesture. “Please do not be offended. I only… My father will compensate you if you bring me back. I swear it.”

  Michael leaned back in the chair and dragged a hand down his face.

  This is a disaster.

  If he returned the kid, he could walk straight into whatever political mess caused that ambush and end up blamed, imprisoned, or killed.

  And if he didn’t return him, he was now hiding a missing prince in an attic with some sort of magical power to make some sort of protective barriers and speak into his mind. What if the government found out?

  A minute of multiple worst-case scenarios ran through his head until he remembered how useful his portals were.

  Michael’s eyes flicked to the portal he opened with a thought.

  With these portals… I could do anything. I could return this kid. Elion, home, and get a reward, and worst case, I could just escape through a portal. Hell, if this goes well, I could even start a trade monopoly. His face turned from a frown to a smile behind his hands.

  He forced his face neutral again and looked at Elion.

  Michael held Elion’s gaze for a beat, then looked past him-past the kitchen, past the normal morning light-as he could already see the next few weeks stacking up like bills.

  First problem: survival. Those men hadn’t been random thugs. They’d moved like a unit. And they were out for blood; they could even still be looking for Elion and him. And the wolf, too, if he was going back through that forest, he needed something that leveled the field. A weapon he actually understood. Which meant he had to get a license, buy guns, train in using them, so he didn’t miss shots that his life could depend on.

  Second problem: himself. His lungs burned after climbing the stairs these days. If he got chased, if he had to fight, if he had to carry someone-portals or not-he couldn’t be the guy who used to train. He’d have to become him again. Gym. Conditioning. Stamina. Fast.

  Third problem: time. A job meant schedules. Cameras. Questions. Exhaustion. He had to quit his job immediately.

  He glanced toward the hallway as if his father might appear any second. Then back at Elion.

  I’m going to have to lie to them. A lot. And if they find out why… it won’t just be awkward.

  Even if he worked himself raw, his paycheck would never compare to what his portals could do-legally or otherwise. He could feel a decision forming, heavy and inevitable.

  Quit the job. Prepare. Get armed. Get fit. Get ready.