CHAPTER 8: THE LESSON
Dawn painted the training field in shades of gold and rose, the autumn air crisp enough to bite but warm enough to promise that winter was still weeks away. Dew clung to the grass in crystalline droplets that caught the early light like scattered jewels, and the silence carried the expectant quality of a stage waiting for performers to arrive.
Alen had been there since before sunrise, setting up practice targets and mentally rehearsing how to teach instinctive magic without revealing its instinctive nature. Spelled stones of varying complexity arranged themselves in neat rows—some containing simple light enchantments, others humming with more sophisticated force manipulation spells. Each one represented a different lesson in magical theory, carefully chosen to demonstrate principles without exposing the full scope of his abilities.
Teaching without revealing, he thought, checking his preparations one final time. Sharing knowledge while hiding understanding. This is going to be more complicated than I anticipated.
Josie appeared at exactly seven AM, punctual as always and carrying two cups of coffee that steamed in the cool air. She moved with the careful energy of someone who'd been awake for a while, excitement and nervousness warring in her expression.
"You're early," she said, offering him one of the cups.
"So are you."
"I've been looking forward to this since last night." Josie surveyed the arranged practice materials with obvious curiosity. "It's been months since we did magic together. I missed it."
The simple honesty in her voice made Alen's chest tight with renewed guilt. How many family traditions had he abandoned in his obsession with larger supernatural threats? How many small moments of connection had he sacrificed on the altar of cosmic responsibility?
"I missed it too," he said, and meant it. "Ready to learn some new techniques?"
Josie nodded eagerly, settling cross-legged on the grass beside the nearest practice stone. Alen joined her, close enough to guide her hands but far enough away to give her space to work.
"Magic has structure," he began, falling into the familiar rhythm of explanation. "Like musical notes forming chords, or mathematical equations building into complex theorems. Siphoners absorb those notes—we take in the raw magical energy and make it ours."
He demonstrated by placing his palm on the spelled stone. The magic flowed into him immediately, and with it came the familiar rush of understanding—not just what the spell did, but how it did it, why it worked, what variations were possible. The light enchantment revealed itself as a simple manipulation of photons, elegant in its efficiency.
It's all patterns, he thought, just as he had in Alaric's office weeks ago. Magic is just... language. And I'm apparently fluent.
But Josie couldn't know that.
"Feel the structure," he said aloud, guiding her hand to the stone's surface. "The magic wants to create light, so it excites photons in a specific wavelength. But spell-crafting means you can rearrange those patterns, redirect that energy into new configurations."
Alen reshaped the absorbed magic as he spoke, turning the simple light spell into a focused beam that cut through the morning air like a laser. Josie gasped, her eyes widening with wonder and the sudden understanding that came from seeing theory made manifest.
"Now you try," he said, moving to a fresh practice stone. "Siphon the magic first—just absorb it without trying to understand it completely. Then feel for the underlying pattern."
Josie placed her palms on the stone, her face scrunching with concentration. The magic flowed into her slowly—she was still learning to open herself completely to external energy—but eventually she managed to absorb the spell entirely.
"I can feel it," she said wonderingly. "It's like... like a song, but made of energy instead of sound."
"Exactly. Now try to redirect it. Fire magic wants to spread outward, wants to consume and grow. But what if you convinced it to move inward instead? What if you compressed that spreading impulse into something more focused?"
Josie's brow furrowed as she worked with the absorbed magic. Alen could see her struggling with concepts that came naturally to him—the intuitive understanding of how magical forces wanted to behave, the instinctive knowledge of how to coax them into new configurations.
I need to guide her without making it obvious that this is effortless for me, he realized. She needs to think I learned these techniques through study and practice, not cosmic gift and alien understanding.
"Here," he said, placing his hand over hers. "Feel how the energy moves. Fire wants to expand—so give it permission to expand, but only in the direction you choose."
With his guidance, Josie's magic shifted and focused. Her scattered flame became a controlled burn, tight and precise and beautiful in its restraint. She stared at the result with an expression caught between amazement and pride.
"I did it!" she said, bouncing slightly with excitement. "I actually controlled the spell structure!"
Alen smiled, hiding how much he'd had to dumb down his explanations to make them comprehensible. To him, magical structure was as obvious as breathing. To everyone else, it was apparently a complex academic discipline requiring years of study.
At least she's a fast learner, he thought, watching Josie examine her controlled flame from multiple angles. And she's not asking uncomfortable questions about how I know all this.
A voice interrupted their lesson before he could set up the next exercise.
"Cute bonding moment. Don't forget your other sister exists."
Lizzie appeared at the edge of the training field carrying her own cup of coffee and radiating the particular brand of chaotic energy that suggested she'd been awake for exactly as long as it took to throw on clothes and brush her teeth.
"Lizzie," Alen said, genuinely pleased to see her. "Want to join us?"
"Obviously. I'm not missing family magic time." Lizzie plopped down beside them with theatrical grace. "Besides, if Josie's learning impossible spell techniques, I need to learn them too. Twin solidarity and all that."
What followed was thirty minutes of chaotic, wonderful sibling bonding disguised as magical education. Lizzie proved to be a quick study but impatient with theory, preferring to experiment wildly rather than building understanding gradually. She tried to outdo Josie's controlled flame with an ice spell of her own design—and promptly froze her own feet to the ground.
"This is sabotage!" she declared, glaring at her ice-encased boots. "The magic is clearly conspiring against me!"
Alen and Josie dissolved into laughter, the sound carrying across the empty training field like music. For a moment, Alen wasn't the transmigrated stranger carrying cosmic secrets. He wasn't the boy with impossible powers and resurrection coins and knowledge of disasters yet to come.
He was just their brother. The person who taught them magic and laughed at their mistakes and loved them enough to prioritize family time despite the weight of supernatural responsibilities.
This is what I almost lost, he thought, watching his sisters try to help Lizzie thaw her feet without melting her shoes. This warmth, this connection, this sense of belonging somewhere. Power means nothing if you don't have people to share it with.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in one of the school's upper windows. Hope stood at the library window, watching their training session with an expression he couldn't quite read from this distance. The Hollow remained dormant in his proximity, allowing her to observe without the constant whisper of malevolent commentary.
What is she thinking? he wondered. What does she see when she looks at me with my family?
POV: Hope
Hope watched from the library window as Alen laughed with his sisters, something shifting in her chest that had nothing to do with the Hollow's influence. She'd seen him in crisis mode—focused, powerful, carrying responsibilities that would crush most people. But this was different.
This was the boy she'd fallen for at fourteen, unguarded and genuine and delighted by his family's chaos. This was the person who'd existed before Klaus's threats and three years of painful silence.
But he's also someone new, she realized, studying the easy way he demonstrated magical techniques that should have taken years to master. Someone who can craft spells that don't exist and suppress ancient evils without breaking a sweat.
The contradiction was fascinating and troubling in equal measure. How much of Alen's story was real? How much of his transformation could be attributed to natural growth versus... something else?
She trusted him with her life—his presence kept the Hollow dormant, gave her peace she hadn't known in months. But trust and understanding were different things, and she was beginning to realize how little she actually knew about what he'd become.
He's hiding something, she thought, watching him help Lizzie free her frozen feet. Something bigger than just advanced magical techniques. The question is whether it's dangerous to me, or dangerous to him.
Down on the training field, Alen looked up at the window. Their eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, Hope felt the familiar flutter of connection that had defined their relationship years ago. Then he smiled and waved, and she found herself smiling back despite her reservations.
Maybe understanding can come later, she decided. Right now, I trust him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. And if he's hiding something dangerous... well, I've gotten good at handling dangerous things.
The Hollow stirred slightly in response to her thoughts, a whisper of ancient malice testing the edges of its containment. But Alen's proximity kept it weak, its voice barely audible against the background noise of her consciousness.
Stay quiet, she told it. We're learning to coexist peacefully. Don't ruin it.
Below, the lesson was winding down. Alen helped his sisters pack up the practice materials while they chattered about spell theory and plans for future training sessions. The scene was domestic and sweet and completely at odds with the cosmic drama that seemed to follow supernatural teenagers like a persistent curse.
He's trying to be normal, Hope realized. Despite everything he can do, despite whatever's changed about him, he's trying to maintain connections to the person he used to be.
It was admirable. And slightly heartbreaking, because Hope suspected that kind of normalcy might be impossible for someone carrying the weight of power she'd glimpsed in him.
We're more alike than he probably realizes, she thought. Both trying to be ordinary while carrying extraordinary burdens. Both pretending we're not slowly being transformed by forces beyond our control.
The thought should have been troubling. Instead, it felt oddly comforting.
For the first time in years, Hope didn't feel quite so alone.
POV: Alen
The lesson ended with hugs and promises of future training sessions and Lizzie's demand that they make this a weekly tradition. Alen agreed readily, the warmth of his sisters' affection filling spaces in his chest he hadn't realized were empty.
I can do this, he thought as they headed back toward the main building. I can maintain the relationships that matter while still handling the larger supernatural threats. It just requires better time management and clearer priorities.
But as they separated to attend their respective classes, Josie caught his arm.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not giving up on us. For remembering that we matter too."
The gratitude in her voice made Alen's guilt deepen rather than ease. Because the truth was more complicated than she realized. He'd taught her techniques that would eventually serve her well—but he'd also seen her absorbing his patterns, his shortcuts, his instinctive understanding of how magic wanted to behave.
I'm accidentally training her to think like I think, he realized with growing unease. Teaching her to manipulate magical structures with the same intuitive grasp that comes from the Entity's gifts.
In the right hands, that knowledge would make her incredibly powerful. In the wrong circumstances—say, if she encountered dark artifacts that amplified those techniques—it could make her incredibly dangerous.
The Entity's curse prevented him from warning her directly about the path she was destined to walk. But maybe, by giving her confidence in her own abilities, by making sure she felt valued and important, he could prevent the insecurity and jealousy that would eventually drive her toward darkness.
At least, I hope so, he thought, watching Josie hurry toward her first class with a spring in her step that had been absent for weeks. Because if I'm wrong, I just gave my sister the tools to become something truly terrifying.
The weight of unintended consequences settled over him like a familiar coat. Every action rippled outward in ways he couldn't predict, every choice carried the potential for both salvation and disaster.
The price of knowledge is responsibility, he thought, remembering the Entity's words. And the price of power is watching everything you touch change in ways you never intended.
But that was tomorrow's problem. Today, his sisters were smiling again.
For now, that was enough.
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