Chapter 13

  Nick slipped into the back row of Professor Ellis's Intro to Business lecture five minutes early, his senses buzzing with quiet alarm. Something was off. Not just the lingering ache in his muscles or the phantom taste of mana in his mouth—but the classroom itself felt… wrong. Sarah and Matt’s seats were empty. Maybe that wasn’t unusual on the day of Harrington’s big lecture. But today, it felt ominous.

  Professor Ellis entered precisely at 2:00 PM, his usual tailored suit impeccable, his movements precise as he arranged his notes on the lectern. Nick noticed immediately how the professor's gaze swept across the room, deliberately avoiding the section where Nick sat.

  "Today we'll be discussing market disruption through technological innovation," Ellis began, his voice carrying the practiced cadence of someone who had delivered this lecture many times before. "When established industries face extinction-level threats..."

  Nick tried to focus on taking notes, but his mind kept circling back to the warehouse, to the poison, to the text message waiting on his neatly-placed phone. None of it felt random anymore.

  Halfway through the lecture, Ellis finally—almost reluctantly—looked in Nick's direction while discussing adaptive corporate responses to external threats. Their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second, something shifted in Ellis's expression—a slight curl at the corner of his mouth, a knowing smirk that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  The professor quickly looked away, continuing his lecture without pause, but that fleeting expression confirmed what Nick had begun to suspect: Ellis knew something. Whether he was a player in whatever game was unfolding or merely an observer remained unclear, but he wasn't just a business professor. That much was certain.

  By the time Ellis dismissed the class, Nick had filled his notebook with fragmentary notes, his attention too fractured to maintain coherence. As students filed out, Nick lingered, half-expecting Ellis to approach him with some cryptic comment or veiled threat. Instead, the professor methodically packed his briefcase and left without another glance in Nick's direction.

  Outside the Business building, Nick pulled out his phone and texted Maggie:

  I'm back on campus. Need to talk. Where are you?

  Her response came almost immediately: Thank god. Engineering courtyard, east corner. Now.

  The engineering courtyard was a small, secluded space nestled between two modernist buildings, populated by a few concrete benches and drought-resistant plants. Maggie was waiting in the farthest corner, partially hidden by an architectural feature that created a natural blind spot from most angles.

  When she saw Nick, her usual composed demeanor cracked. She rushed forward, stopping just short of hugging him, her hands hovering uncertainly before dropping back to her sides.

  "I reported you missing," she said without preamble, her voice low and tense. "One of my contacts in your dorm said you never made it back last night, and when you didn't show up for morning classes..." She trailed off, studying his face. "What happened?"

  Nick glanced around, confirming they were alone before responding. "Someone tasered me outside my dorm last night. I woke up in an abandoned warehouse about a hundred miles from here."

  Maggie's eyes widened. "Jesus, Nick. Are you okay?"

  "Physically, yes. They drugged me with something, but I managed to..." Nick hesitated, still uncertain how much to reveal about his abilities. "My system fought it off."

  "System?" Maggie wiggled her fingers—their shorthand for mana.

  "Yeah. That." Nick nodded. "It helped me break free and make my way back. But here's what's strange—they just left me there. No guards, minimal restraints. Like they wanted to see what I'd do."

  Maggie paced a small circle, her mind visibly processing the implications. "A test, maybe? Or they needed you out of the way temporarily." She stopped abruptly. "You said your phone was taken. How did you get back?"

  "That's another weird part. When I got back to my room, my phone was there waiting for me." Nick pulled it out, showing her the screen with the text message. "Along with this."

  Maggie studied the message. "M.E.? Who's that?"

  "I have no idea," Nick admitted. "But apparently they want to meet at 5:00 PM."

  "That's risky," Maggie frowned. "But if they're positioning against Callahan, they might be worth talking to." She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Just be careful. This could easily be another trap."

  From her backpack, Maggie produced a pair of ordinary-looking glasses and what appeared to be a simple wristwatch. "Take these. The glasses can detect neural interface signals—they'll show fluctuations in the visual field if someone's using tech to manipulate brainwaves. The watch monitors electromagnetic anomalies." Her voice dropped even lower. "If Harrington plans to demonstrate something tonight that could affect people's minds, these will warn you."

  Nick accepted the items, turning them over in his hands. "You made these?"

  "Modified them," Maggie corrected with a hint of pride. "The basic tech already existed. I just... enhanced it."

  "Thanks." Nick slipped the glasses into his pocket and fastened the watch around his wrist. "I should get going. I still need to eat something before this meeting."

  Maggie nodded. "Text me if anything happens. And Nick?" She met his eyes with unusual intensity. "Whatever you learn tonight—at this meeting or at Harrington's lecture—I want to know everything."

  Nick chose a small diner several blocks from campus, a place unlikely to be frequented by other students. After the events of the previous night, he couldn't bring himself to trust the campus cafeteria food. The diner was quiet at this hour, occupied only by a few elderly regulars and a harried waitress who seemed relieved when Nick ordered something simple—a burger and fries.

  While waiting for his food, Nick checked his university email, surprised to find a message from Dean Whitaker flagged as "urgent." The subject line read: "Regarding Last Night's Incident."

  From: Office of the Dean

  To:

  Bcc/Cc:

  Subject: Regarding Last Night’s Incident

  Mr. Valiente,

  The University administration deeply regrets the unfortunate incident you experienced last night. While the circumstances remain under investigation, we wish to express our sincere apologies for any distress caused.

  Westlake University takes the safety and wellbeing of our students with the utmost seriousness. To that end, we would like to offer a settlement of $25,000 in exchange for a non-disclosure agreement regarding this matter. This offer is made without admission of liability and solely in the interest of resolving this situation amicably.

  Please contact my office to discuss this arrangement further.

  Sincerely,

  Dean Richard Whitaker

  Westlake University

  Nick huffed a humorless laugh, drawing a curious glance from a nearby diner. Twenty-five thousand dollars to keep quiet about being kidnapped and poisoned? The bureaucratic audacity was almost impressive. The timing of the email was equally telling—someone wanted to ensure this was handled before tonight's lecture.

  His food arrived, and Nick ate mechanically, his mind racing through possibilities. The university was clearly involved at some level, either actively or through willful ignorance. And Feldman, Ellis, the surveillance, the kidnapping—all of it seemed to be converging on tonight's lecture.

  He was halfway through his burger when the bell above the diner door jingled. He didn't look up immediately—a habit he was developing to avoid appearing too alert, too aware. But his senses, heightened since cleansing the poison with mana, registered the newcomers before they even spoke: two men, one with the faint scent of campus security’s standard-issue cologne, the other with the familiar aroma of chalk dust and bitter coffee that clung to most faculty.

  They took a booth behind Nick—close enough that their conversation drifted to him in fragments. He kept his head down, focused on his food, while stretching his hearing the way Arlize had once used to eavesdrop on enemy camp discussions.

  “…still can’t believe the turnout,” the first man said, his voice clipped and authoritative. “Every seat reserved within an hour of the announcement.”

  “Department’s calling it the academic event of the year,” replied the second—older, more hesitant. “Though between us, I’m not sure Harrington should be showcasing this tech so publicly.”

  Nick took a slow sip of water, pretending to scroll through his phone, even as he absorbed every word.

  “He’s really going through with it?” The first voice dropped lower. “The full demonstration?”

  “Apparently.” A note of resignation. “Callahan’s orders. Doesn’t matter what any of us think. As long as the system doesn’t trigger, and the monitoring stays within parameters…”

  There was a pause, the soft clink of ice in glasses. Nick’s mana stirred, unbidden—coiled tension beneath his skin.

  “And if it doesn’t?” the first man asked.

  “That’s why security’s been doubled,” the second replied. “But honestly, I don’t think anyone knows what happens if it goes wrong. That’s what makes it…”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The conversation faded as a server approached, and Nick signaled for his check with practiced ease, masking the sudden tightness in his chest.

  As Nick paid his bill and left, he caught a final exchange from the booth: "Just make sure your team knows—if you see anyone showing signs, they need to be removed immediately. Quietly." "And Valiente?" "Especially him." Nick stepped into the fading daylight, his mind racing alongside his quickened pulse. They were expecting something to happen tonight. They were watching for it.

  Stepping out of the diner, he took a deep breath. If they were watching for him, he’d make sure he was ready.

  Looking at his phone, it was 4:30 PM. Time to meet the mysterious M.E.

  Murphy's Bar sat at the edge of downtown, close enough to campus to draw a student crowd on weekends but far enough to maintain a clientele of local professionals during the week. It was upscale for a college bar—dark wood furnishings, subdued lighting, and a restaurant section that served decent food alongside its extensive drink menu.

  Nick arrived fifteen minutes early, pausing outside to observe the establishment through the large front windows. For a Thursday evening this early, the place was surprisingly busy—suspiciously so. Groups clustered around tables, individuals occupied strategic bar positions, and there seemed to be an unusual number of people sitting alone, ostensibly focused on phones or laptops.

  Taking a deep breath, Nick entered, immediately scanning for exits, choke points, and defensible positions—tactical assessments that now came naturally, Arlize's military experience bleeding into his own consciousness. He found an empty booth with a clear view of both the entrance and the bar, sliding in with his back to the wall.

  A server approached—college-aged but not a Westlake student he recognized.

  "What can I get you?" she asked, pen poised above her notepad.

  "Coke on the rocks," Nick replied, maintaining his surveillance of the room.

  The server nodded and left. Nick continued cataloging faces, looking for anyone paying too much attention to him, anyone who might be M.E.

  He was so focused on watching the door that he almost missed the movement in his peripheral vision. Someone slid into the seat across from him. Nick’s heart rate spiked instantly, mana surging to his fingertips in preparation for a defense. Then he looked up.

  Older. Silver hair. Crisp suit. Electric blue eyes. Nick’s mana stirred—a warning.

  Then recognition slammed into him like a freight train.

  Marcus Eidolon.

  "Mr. Valiente," the man said, his voice cultured and measured. "I appreciate your punctuality."

  Up close, his presence was even more commanding—an air of absolute self-assurance that couldn't be faked.

  "M.E.," Nick said, getting control of his emotions and letting his mana recede slightly but still on high alert. "Marcus Eidolon."

  The man's lips curled into an appreciative smile. "Indeed. Though we're not exactly strangers, Nick."

  Nick's confusion must have shown on his face because Eidolon continued, "I am an old friend of your grandfather as well as your parents. Your father and I worked together briefly before he met your mother and shifted his focus to more... academic pursuits."

  The server returned with Nick's Coke, asking Eidolon if he wanted anything. He ordered a sparkling water before turning his attention back to Nick.

  "I should apologize for not being at their funeral," Eidolon said, genuine regret coloring his tone. "International commitments kept me away, but I sent flowers. White lilies—your mother's favorite, if I recall correctly."

  Nick remembered the arrangement—it had seemed oddly elegant compared to the others, with a card signed simply "M.E." He hadn't connected it to anyone at the time, too overwhelmed by grief to question the sender's identity.

  "You knew them well?" Nick asked, still uncertain how to respond to this connection he hadn't anticipated.

  "Well enough," Eidolon replied. "Your father was brilliant—ahead of his time in many ways. And your mother..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She had unique insights into matters that many of us spent years struggling to understand."

  There was something in his phrasing that suggested he knew about more than just Nick's parents' academic work, but before Nick could probe further, Eidolon changed direction.

  "I'm curious—why haven't you contacted your grandparents in Colombia? They worry about you."

  The question caught Nick off guard. "You talk to them often?"

  "As much as I can." Eidolon's expression softened slightly. "Your grandfather mentioned you hadn’t spoken since before starting at Westlake."

  Nick felt a pang of guilt. "We had a disagreement about my choice of university. He wanted me to attend a university in Colombia, to be closer to family. It got... heated." The memory of his grandfather's anger, his grandmother's tears, still stung. "I've been meaning to reach out, but..."

  "But life got complicated," Eidolon finished for him. "I understand. Family relationships often are." He leaned forward slightly. "You should call them soon. Your grandfather is stubborn, but he loves you deeply."

  "I will," Nick promised, surprised by the sincerity in his own voice. "I've been thinking about visiting during winter break."

  Eidolon's expression brightened. "An excellent idea. Colombia is beautiful that time of year. Perhaps I could join you for part of the visit? I have business interests in Bogotá that would benefit from my presence."

  The offer seemed genuine, yet Nick couldn't shake the feeling that everything about this conversation had been carefully orchestrated. Before he could respond, Eidolon glanced at his watch—a sleek, minimalist device that probably cost more than a semester's tuition.

  "I'm afraid our time is limited," he said, his tone shifting to something more formal. "You have Professor Harrington's lecture tonight, and I have a conference call with Tokyo in thirty minutes."

  As he spoke, Eidolon reached across the table, briefly covering Nick's hand with his own. When he withdrew, a small device remained—circular, about the size of an aspirin, metallic with faint green circuitry visible beneath a translucent surface.

  "Your friend's tech will help," Eidolon said quietly, nodding toward Nick's pocket where Maggie's glasses rested. "This will do more. Use it at the lecture tonight."

  Nick stared at the device, questions multiplying in his mind. "What is it?"

  "Protection," Eidolon replied cryptically. "And perhaps a bit more." He stood, adjusting his cuffs with practiced precision. "Come by our downtown offices this weekend. I'll text you the address."

  He placed a business card beside Nick's untouched drink—simple white card stock with nothing but "EIDOLON" embossed in silver lettering.

  "Good luck tonight," Eidolon said, his intense blue eyes meeting Nick's one final time. "Your parents would be proud of the man you're becoming."

  With that, he turned and walked away, weaving through the crowded bar with the confidence of someone who expected others to move aside—which, remarkably, they did.

  Outside Murphy's, Nick stood on the sidewalk, the small device cradled in his palm. The encounter with Eidolon had left him with more questions than answers. The man clearly knew things about Nick's family, about the situation at Westlake, perhaps even about Nick's abilities—yet Nick was left with more questions than answers from the interaction.

  Nick's first instinct was to call Maggie, to have her examine the device before he did anything reckless. But a glance at his phone made his stomach drop—6:30 PM.

  Wait. An hour and a half had passed? That couldn’t be right. The meeting had started just after 5. He hadn’t been in the bar that long. Had he?

  The memory of his time in the bar was crisp—every word, every gesture, still sharp in his mind. No gaps. No fatigue.

  But time had vanished like smoke.

  Did Marcus do something to him? Did he use mana too? The idea shouldn’t have surprised him—but it did. The way time had slipped, the way his energy hadn’t rebelled against the man’s presence...

  Nick exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to stop chasing threads he didn’t have the time—or tools—to unravel. Too many questions. Too many secrets. He’d ask Marcus about the time loss next time they met.

  He looked at the sky, the sun almost below the horizon, its last rays mingling with the indigo and violet of the incoming night sky. Harrington's lecture started at 7:00, and he still needed to get back to campus, change, and prepare.

  Nick turned the device over in his palm. It looked harmless—smooth, metallic, no buttons or markings. But something about it buzzed.

  Not electronically. Energetically.

  His mana prickled against it like static meeting steel.

  He thought about calling Maggie. He thought about throwing it in a storm drain.

  But something tugged at him—subtle, quiet, insistent. Acting on instinct, he funneled a thin thread of mana into his vision, watching for traces.

  What he saw made him nearly drop the device in shock. Blue static energy seemed to dance around it—similar to what he'd observed with technology affected by his mana—but there was something else. Thin threads of green energy, distinct from his blue mana, moved with purpose across the surface, forming distinct patterns.

  As Nick focused, the green energy coalesced into words:

  Eat Me

  "What the hell?" Nick muttered, drawing a curious glance from a passing pedestrian.

  Arlize's memories surged forward, warnings of magical traps and poisoned offerings from ancient adversaries. Nick's modern sensibilities were equally alarmed—consuming unknown technology seemed categorically unwise.

  As his thoughts spiraled through worst-case scenarios, the green energy shifted again, reforming into new words:

  Won't hurt you. Only help. Promise.

  Nick's eyes widened. The device was responding to his thoughts, or at least to his doubts. The implications were staggering—neural interface technology that could read surface thoughts and respond in real-time.

  More shocking still, Nick felt his own mana pulse in response to the green energy—not in rejection or defense, but in recognition. Something in him resonated with whatever powered this device, as if they shared some fundamental frequency.

  Against every rational argument his mind could muster, Nick felt a certainty forming in his gut. Before he could second-guess himself further, he placed the device on his tongue and swallowed.

  For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, a strange warmth spread from his center outward, racing along pathways that perfectly matched his mana circulation. The sensation wasn't unpleasant—more like the feeling of stepping into a hot shower after being caught in cold rain.

  Nick blinked, and for a moment, the world seemed to shift into enhanced focus. Colors intensified, sounds separated into distinct layers, and the electromagnetic signatures of nearby devices became visible as faint auras around phones and cars.

  Just as quickly, the sensations normalized, leaving behind only a lingering clarity—as if some background static in his perception had been eliminated.

  Nick checked his watch—Maggie's EM detector showed no abnormal readings. Whatever had just happened, it hadn't triggered her safeguards.

  He started walking back toward campus, his pace quickening as the minutes ticked by. With each step, the certainty grew stronger—whatever he had just consumed wasn't merely technology.

  It was a key.

  As soon as he stepped into his dorm room and the door clicked shut behind him, a low buzzing began to build in his ears. It wasn’t mechanical—but internal, like mana vibrating along his nerves. Before he could react, the world tilted sideways. His vision tunneled. Darkness swallowed him whole.

  Nick gasped awake, body rigid, breath caught in his throat. A pale glow filled the space in front of his eyes—lines of glyphs and light unfurling across his vision.

  [Initiating biometric resonance scan...] …Mana signature detected. …Bloodline encryption matched. …Temporal displacement confirmed: 1,207 cycles since last activation.

  ? IDENTITY VERIFIED ?

  ? Codename: ARLIZE DENTRAGON

  ? Alias: Nicholas Valiente

  ? Lineage: Aurilian Core Bloodline [Grand Tier]

  ? Titles:

  ? First Grand Magi of the Arc Spire, The Supreme Magus

  ? High Noble Knight of the Aurilia Empire, The Sword Epoch

  System Note: Dormancy period exceeded optimal thresholds.

  Reestablishing neural lattice sync…

  Reconstructing mana pathways…

  Recalibrating cognitive harmonics…

  ?? Welcome back, Supreme Magus, Sword Epoch. The Empire remembers.

  ?? The Arcadia sleeps no longer.