CHAPTER 12: THE WEIGHT OF KNOWING
Three days after the Triad raid, Salvatore School had settled into the kind of cautious normalcy that followed supernatural crises—students walking in pairs, faculty conducting extra security sweeps, and everyone pretending the world wasn't fundamentally dangerous despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Alen sat in European History, half-listening to Dr. Saltzman lecture about medieval trade routes while scanning the courtyard through tall windows. Marcus had integrated remarkably well into school life, aided by the supernatural teenager's innate understanding that sometimes family was chosen rather than born. Hope maintained her usual spot three seats away, close enough for Hollow suppression but distant enough to avoid gossip about their relationship status.
Everything was perfectly ordinary until a black SUV pulled through the school's main gates.
No, Alen thought, recognizing the vehicle's occupants before they'd fully emerged. Not yet. It's too early. The timeline is wrong.
Two figures climbed out of the SUV—a tall boy with dark hair and the unconscious posture of someone who'd spent his life expecting rejection, followed by a shorter teenager whose athletic build and predatory grace screamed werewolf to anyone with supernatural senses.
Landon Kirby and Rafael Waithe. Foster brothers. The phoenix golem and the werewolf who would inadvertently trigger the Malivore crisis that should still be months away.
The knife, Alen realized with growing panic. Landon's going to steal the dragon knife from the school's artifact collection. He doesn't know what it is or what it does, but his golem nature will compel him to take it anyway. And when he does, Malivore will start sending monsters to retrieve him.
He had to warn someone. Had to prevent the theft before—
"Hope's going to—" he began, turning toward her with desperate urgency.
The words twisted in his throat, mangled by the Entity's curse before they could reach his lips.
"Hope's going to adopt a sentient waffle!"
Hope blinked, her attention fully focused on him for the first time all class. "What?"
Alen tried again, panic making his voice crack. "The new students will—"
"The new students will manufacture a time-traveling disco ball!"
Several classmates turned to stare at him, expressions ranging from confused to concerned. Hope's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.
"Alen, are you having a stroke?"
The curse, he realized with sickening clarity. The Entity's prohibition against sharing future knowledge. I can't warn them about Landon directly. I can't explain what he is or what he's going to do.
He pulled out his phone, trying to text what he couldn't say aloud.
Landon Kirby is dangerous. He's going to steal the dragon knife and—
The words on his screen scrambled into meaningless symbols that hurt to look at. His autocorrect function seemed possessed, transforming every attempt at warning into complete gibberish.
The new student might accidentally activate protective magical furniture!
Supernatural security needs enhancement because of potential disco emergencies!
Monitor artifact storage for unauthorized waffle consumption!
Even thinking about directly warning someone sent spikes of pain through his skull, the Entity's curse absolute and unforgiving.
I know everything that's going to happen, Alen thought desperately. I know Landon will be drawn to the knife because of his golem nature. I know he'll steal it without understanding what it is. I know that theft will activate Malivore's attention and start sending monsters to the school. And I can't tell anyone because cosmic forces have literally locked that knowledge away.
The frustration was maddening—like watching a car accident in slow motion while being physically unable to shout a warning.
But I can act around it, he realized. I can manipulate events without explaining my motivations. I can influence people's decisions without revealing the reasons behind my influence.
After class, Alen intercepted Alaric in the hallway between administrative meetings.
"Dad, can we talk? About security protocols?"
Alaric paused, noting the tension in his son's voice. "What kind of security protocols?"
"The new students. Landon Kirby and Rafael Waithe. I think we should implement extra monitoring procedures."
"Why?" Alaric's expression grew sharper. "Do you have specific intelligence about them?"
Because Landon's a golem created by Malivore to retrieve supernatural artifacts, and his presence here will trigger a series of monster attacks that could destroy the school, Alen thought. Because his foster brother is a werewolf who hasn't triggered his curse yet, and proximity to supernatural conflict will eventually force him to kill someone. Because everything about their arrival is a trap waiting to spring.
"Gut feeling," he said instead. "Triad is still active. Corporate-funded kidnapping operations don't just disappear because we destroyed one facility. New students arriving right after a major security incident feels... convenient."
Alaric studied his son's face, recognizing genuine concern beneath the carefully neutral expression. "You think they might be plants? Corporate infiltrators?"
"I think extra caution can't hurt. Enhanced monitoring around valuable artifacts, additional background checks, maybe some discrete observation to ensure they're who they claim to be."
Please, Alen thought. Please increase security around the artifact collection. Make it harder for Landon to steal the knife without authorization.
"Reasonable precautions," Alaric agreed after a moment. "I'll have Dorian implement additional security measures around sensitive materials."
Relief flooded through Alen's chest. It wasn't a perfect solution—Landon's golem nature would eventually compel him toward the knife regardless of security measures—but it might delay the theft long enough for Alen to find alternative interventions.
Now I need to figure out how to neutralize the threat without explaining why it's a threat, he thought. How do I prevent Landon from stealing an artifact he doesn't even know exists yet?
The solution, when it came to him, was elegantly simple: make friends with the enemy.
Alen found Landon and Rafael in the school's common area, looking appropriately overwhelmed by their introduction to supernatural education. They sat apart from other students—not quite outcasts, but clearly uncertain about their place in this strange new environment.
Landon looks exactly like he did in the show, Alen observed, studying the older boy's earnest expression and unconscious defensiveness. Young, confused, carrying abandonment issues like armor. Rafael's more obviously dangerous—that predatory stillness that suggests barely controlled violence.
"You must be the new transfers," Alen said, approaching with calculated casualness. "Alen Saltzman. My father's the headmaster."
Landon looked up with the eager attention of someone desperate for any sign of acceptance. "Landon Kirby. This is my foster brother Rafael. We're still figuring out... all this."
He gestured vaguely at their surroundings, encompassing the reality of supernatural education with all its bizarre implications.
"It's a lot to process," Alen agreed, settling into a nearby chair. "Mind if I ask what brought you here? Most transfers have specific incidents that trigger enrollment."
"Foster home situations," Rafael said simply, his voice carrying the flat tone of someone who'd learned not to expect sympathy. "Things got complicated."
Because Rafael killed someone, Alen thought, remembering canonical details he couldn't share. Because his werewolf curse triggered and he's dealing with the trauma of unintentional murder. And because Landon's supernatural nature is starting to manifest in ways that make normal foster care impossible.
"Complicated is pretty standard around here," Alen said. "Everyone's dealing with something that doesn't fit conventional explanations."
Over the next hour, he drew them into conversation about school life, supernatural politics, and the various challenges of magical education. Landon proved to be genuinely likeable—thoughtful, curious, carrying himself with the careful courtesy of someone who'd learned to be grateful for any kindness. Rafael was more guarded, but Alen could sense intelligence and loyalty beneath his defensive exterior.
They're good people, he realized with growing unease. Landon doesn't know he's a golem designed to steal supernatural artifacts. Rafael doesn't understand that his werewolf nature makes him dangerous to everyone around him. They're both victims of circumstances beyond their control.
Which made what he might eventually have to do to them infinitely more complicated.
I can't let Landon steal the knife, he thought. But I also can't explain why preventing that theft is crucial to everyone's survival. So I need to find ways to redirect his attention, build relationships that give him reasons to stay away from restricted areas, maybe even find alternative outlets for whatever compulsions his golem nature creates.
It was manipulative. Machiavellian. The kind of psychological chess game that required treating people as pieces to be moved rather than individuals deserving honesty.
But it's necessary, he told himself. If befriending them prevents the Malivore crisis, if building trust keeps Landon away from dangerous artifacts, then the manipulation serves a greater good.
The rationalization felt hollow even as he constructed it.
That evening, Josie cornered him in the library during his increasingly frequent research sessions.
"Are you okay?" she asked, settling into the chair across from his table. "You've been acting... strange. Paranoid. Today in history class, you started babbling about sentient waffles."
Alen looked up from a grimoire detailing protective ward construction—research aimed at finding ways to secure the artifact collection without explaining why enhanced security was necessary.
"Just worried about Triad retaliation," he said, the partial truth coming easily. "Too many variables. Too many ways things could go wrong."
"You can't control everything, Alen." Josie's voice carried the gentle concern of someone who'd watched her brother transform from anxious teenager into hypervigilant strategist. "Sometimes you have to trust that other people can handle their own problems."
But I know what problems are coming, he thought desperately. I know exactly what dangers are approaching and when they'll arrive. I know who's going to die, who's going to be corrupted, who's going to make choices that doom innocent people. And I can't share any of that knowledge because cosmic forces have literally locked it away.
"I know," he said instead. "That's the problem."
Josie studied his face, seeing the exhaustion and frustration he couldn't fully hide. Her brilliant mind cataloged details—his increasingly erratic behavior, his obvious anxiety around the new students, his growing isolation despite their recent reconciliation.
He's carrying secrets, she realized. More secrets than just enhanced magical abilities or mysterious research projects. He knows something he can't or won't share, and it's eating him alive.
The observation planted seeds of inadequacy that would eventually grow into something dangerous. If her brother was struggling with burdens too heavy to share, if he was facing challenges that required knowledge and power beyond her capabilities, then what did that say about her own worth to the family?
I want to help him, she thought. But how can I help with problems I'm not allowed to understand?
That night, Alen dreamed of the Entity.
He stood again in the cosmic void where stars were holes in reality and impossible geometries folded space into origami patterns. The Entity's presence pressed against his consciousness with the weight of eons, vast and patient and faintly amused.
"Knowledge is burden," it said in its voice of stellar wind and dying galaxies. "Action is test. You chose this weight when you accepted my gifts."
"The curse makes everything impossible," Alen protested. "I can see disasters approaching but I can't prevent them through direct warning. I'm forced to manipulate people instead of trusting them with truth."
"Truth is luxury the universe rarely provides. Manipulation is tool of the desperate and the wise." The Entity shifted, geometric patterns rearranging into configurations that suggested approval. "You asked for power to rewrite their story. Power requires choices. Choices require sacrifice."
"What sacrifice? What am I giving up?"
"Innocence. The comfortable fiction that good intentions justify any action. The belief that knowledge creates obligation rather than opportunity."
The void began to fade as Alen's consciousness drifted toward waking.
"Every gift carries weight," the Entity reminded him as reality reasserted itself. "Yours will be heavier than most."
Alen woke gasping, the resurrection coin burning hot against his palm. Outside his window, Virginia dawn painted the sky in shades of hope and warning.
Knowledge is burden, he thought, remembering the Entity's words. But burden can be strength if you're willing to carry it alone.
The curse would remain absolute. The future knowledge would stay locked away. And he would continue manipulating events from the shadows, playing cosmic chess with pieces who deserved better than to be moved by hands they couldn't see.
But if manipulation prevents the Malivore crisis, he told himself. If psychological chess games save innocent lives, then the moral weight is acceptable.
The rationalization still felt hollow.
But it was the only choice available to someone carrying impossible knowledge in a world that demanded simple truths.
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