The warding hummed low and steady, a quiet pulse pressed into the steel examination table.
Kael lay still, feeling the cold bite through his thin Academy tunic—sharp, precise, honest.
The room was no longer an interrogation chamber; it had become a workshop.
Lilian's arrangement of the lab read like a diagram: tools aligned in perfect rows, rune-arrays reflecting her obsessive precision, a single glass vial pulsing faintly at her elbow.
The hum of mana pumps, the flicker of measured light—each detail whispered mastery.
And yet, awe came tempered by a colder truth: humanity's craft, for all its beauty, was cobbled genius—the scavenged brilliance of greater civilizations.
He caught his reflection in a polished scalpel: a sliver of exhaustion framed in steel.
If this is our advancement, what have the elves achieved? What does perfection look like to them?
He pressed the curiosity down. There was no room for indulgence now.
Goal. Process. Result.
The Compendium pared his thoughts into sequence, stripping hesitation from logic.
I must learn the efficient method and shape flesh as a jeweller crafts a necklace. I must become a system—unyielding, deliberate.
But the next step required energy. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed—a clenched fist waiting to unfurl.
He knew the Compendium drew strength from memory, converting experience into cognitive potential. The upcoming procedure would demand power—and control.
Was he willing to log everything, to trade the fragments that once made him human?
The analytical part of him weighed the variables. Emotion was noise. Efficiency was survival.
The decision aligned itself with mechanical inevitability.
The first three years should suffice.
He issued the command.
[Memory Input Received. Compendium Points +44. Total CP: 73.]
The ache left him as if a belt had been unfastened around his mind. The world flattened—clean, ordered, quiet.
His fingers twitched once, an echo of something his mind no longer remembered. Then, nothing.
The silence inside his thoughts was efficient. Predictable.
A clean equation where emotion had once cluttered the variables.
I will take the knowledge humans have cobbled together and see what my Compendium can make of it.
I am the design. She is the technician.
If I can study all the knowledge humans have accumulated on Biomancy, I can correct the flaws. Maybe even optimize the very field itself.
Kael didn't smile, but a ghost of satisfaction crossed his thoughts—not at the odds, but at the certainty that the odds could be changed.
And somewhere deep within the Compendium's lattice, a process continued running—unqueried, unnoticed.
Optimization never stopped.
The door hissed open again.
The same soldier who had escorted Kael in—Lyon—stepped back inside. His boots clicked in measured rhythm, posture exact, eyes sharp. The man radiated the kind of discipline that came from command, not obedience.
Kellan didn't look up from the ward console. "Report."
Lyon bowed slightly. "Everything completed as instructed, sir. The Proctor has signed the soul oath. Only one student showed any sign of suspicion regarding the Compendium."
Kellan's head turned. "Who?"
"Cyrus Vale, sir. His family keeps historical texts about the last Compendium bearer."
Kael's gaze flicked toward Lyon, silent. Of course. The shadow of the first user still lingers. There was no surprise—only a cool calculation. Every trace of that predecessor would be erased just as cleanly as his own origins had been.
Kellan's tone grew sharper. "And?"
"I altered fragments of his memory, sir. Reframed the event. He believes the orphan boy merely awakened an analytical talent."
Kael's jaw tightened at the word orphan. The faint curl of disdain in Lyon's voice didn't need to be there, but it was. He'd heard it all his life—instructors, nobles, officers. To them, birth defined worth. Even now, even here, he was still less.
Kellan nodded once. "Efficient work, Lyon."
Kael catalogued the exchange silently, the Compendium logging every vocal inflection and detail. Noble tone. Servile efficiency. Conditional loyalty. Even soldiers of order serve their pride first.
Then Kellan turned to him. His expression was almost paternal, though the eyes behind it were steel.
"Kael," he said evenly, "you must keep the illusion. Tell everyone you're ordinary. If they learn the truth, your freedom ends."
His voice dropped, all warmth stripped away. "Your Aspect is not power—it's knowledge. And knowledge like yours cannot exist unclaimed. If you reveal what you are, we will move to secure the asset. You'll be confined, studied, replicated until there's nothing left of you—only the Compendium's code."
He leaned closer, each word deliberate. "Don't make mistakes."
Kael met his gaze, unblinking. They already see me as an asset, he thought. So be it. Tools are useful—until they sharpen themselves.
Lilian's voice broke the silence. "Please, Kellan. Leave me with the patient."
Kellan frowned. "You know the priority of this project. He cannot be unsupervised."
"I can divine everything, even from afar," Kellan continued, irritation leaking through control.
Lilian's lips curved faintly as she withdrew an obsidian-inlaid ring from her pocket. "Not if I activate this." The null runes pulsed with dull light. "Anti-Divination. We both know you'll yield. You don't have authority here."
Lyon's hand shifted to his sword, the tension in the air drawn tight as a bowstring.
Kellan's jaw clenched. For a long moment, no one moved. Then he stepped back, the restraint in his motion more dangerous than anger. "Don't forget who approved this procedure."
His glare flicked to Kael—one last silent warning—and then he turned and left. The door shut with a metallic clang that echoed through the warded chamber.
The runes along the walls pulsed, shifting frequency. Containment became isolation.
Kael exhaled once, slow and measured. Alone again—with Lilian, the Compendium, and the tightening lattice of control that now defined his world.
Secrecy = Survival. Adaptation = Freedom.
He let the equations settle in his mind until they felt like truths.
Lilian moved with the smooth, practiced economy of a surgeon. Every gesture had precision—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Her voice, calm and deliberate, carried the authority of someone long used to command.
"I may disagree with Kellan on many things, Kael," she began, aligning instruments on a sterile tray with near-mechanical precision, "but on one point, he's right. You don't want the truth of your Aspect leaking out."
Her hands moved automatically—one calibrating the mana regulator, the other uncorking a faintly glowing vial.
"Kellan despises the other races—especially the elves. His father was born with the Aspect of Pure Arcane. When the elves discovered it, they went before the Council, demanding custody. Claimed humanity was unfit to nurture such a gift."
Her gaze flicked toward the warding lines that hummed faintly across the walls, as if recalling something she'd buried deep. "No one knows what happens to those the elves take. None ever return. So, if you ever leave this kingdom, Kael, let it be by choice—not discovery."
Kael said nothing, his face unreadable. Then I'll make sure I'm never taken. Never claimed. I'll build strength on my own terms.
Lilian's tone cooled as she continued. "I'm one of the top healers in the kingdom. Biomancy is my specialization. And yet—even I am not as skilled as the elves. What I can do, they perfect. You saw in the memory: I rely on my Aspect to compensate. High-grade body-modification spells are locked—restricted by the Primordials themselves."
Kael's curiosity sparked. Locked? Restricted? Does the Compendium's authority reach those boundaries too?
If knowledge itself defines the structure, then even divine limits might only be… data locks.
Lilian noticed the gleam in his eyes and raised a hand, almost amused. "Don't ask. No one truly knows how or why. Magic isn't banned—but access is tiered. Some spells remain unreachable until your mana evolves to a higher resonance. Only the Council has breached that level—and none among them are healers."
She paused, voice softening. "You asked me to treat you as a peer. Then I'll speak plainly—heed Kellan's warning, but prepare yourself for the only truth that ever matters: your own power."
Kael inclined his head slightly. "Understood."
Lilian allowed herself a faint smile. "I won't lie—I have vested interest in you. If you can interpret magical functions through that mind of yours—if theory and instinct can merge—we could achieve what this kingdom has failed to for centuries."
Her gaze sharpened. "We've tried before—transplants of magical beast organs into human anatomy. Each time, the results were temporary. Nature rejects our meddling. Mana rejects impurity."
Kael's thoughts whirred behind his calm eyes. So that's their flaw. They impose harmony instead of designing it. Every failure is an equation written with human error.
Not yet, he decided. Data first. Optimization later.
Lilian's voice pulled him back. "Now… let's begin."
She fastened a rune-etched band around his wrist. The embedded sigils pulsed faintly as she adjusted the valves. "This band will inject the potion directly into your veins. Direct administration bypasses decay—it ensures control and consistency. The Stabilization Procedure is crude, but it clears mana scarring and reopens closed channels."
Kael studied her movements closely—cataloguing each gesture, each rune activation. Her art is repetition. Mine will be design.
Somewhere deep within the Compendium, dormant algorithms stirred—quietly mapping every motion, every fluctuation of light.
Lilian glanced up, her expression turning professorial. "As your mentor, I'll give you your first true lesson. You'll learn this in the Academy, but context is worth more than theory."
She tapped her bracelet—a spatial artifact—and drew forth a crystalline lens that shimmered with faint, concentric runes.
"After birth, the body accumulates waste—food residue, dust, pollutants. Most is harmless, but some fuses with your essence. Those are magical impurities. Before awakening, your body can't channel mana efficiently, so those impurities lodge in your blood and organs."
A thin thread of emerald light pulsed from the lens as she spoke. "That's why nobles feed their children dungeon meat and purified grains. Dungeon creatures are naturally balanced with mana, keeping their bodies clean. Even then, small impurities persist. But you…" her tone softened, "had no such protection. Malnourishment and impurity have choked your channels."
Kael's brow furrowed. "So even before training, one's capacity is limited by filth in the blood."
"Exactly. The cleaner the vessel, the greater the control."
He leaned forward. "But there must have been others like me—orphans who awakened. I can't be the only one."
Lilian's expression darkened. "You're not. But those who awaken with your condition rarely survive. Some force mana through the blockages, risking collapse. Others spend years purging the toxins slowly. The lucky few reach advancement—but most… burn out."
Her tone turned bitter. "The kingdom intervenes when it can. Cleansing potions are granted to those who serve the crown, but everything has a price. Power earns resources; resources buy more power. But both are finite. Don't mistake it for cruelty, Kael—it's calculation. The nobles call it 'natural selection.'"
Kael's jaw tightened. Calculation. Efficiency. Even mercy follows a formula.
Lilian tapped the bracelet again. The crystalline lens expanded with a low hum, runes glowing brighter as she aimed it at him. "Now, watch carefully."
A thin beam of mana swept across his body, and a projection formed in the air—a spectral rendering of Kael's anatomy. His eyes widened. Black sludge writhed through his veins, twisting like parasitic roots.
Lilian gestured at the image. "You see why I insisted on treatment. If you'd tried to infuse mana now, you'd spend years just to clear half this. By then, your potential would already be crippled."
Kael stared at the image. So that's what's inside me. No wonder I always felt… defective.
Lilian flipped the lens, and the projection faded. "After awakening, the body naturally cycles small amounts of mana—it prevents new impurities from forming. But it doesn't erase what's already there. That's why this procedure is necessary."
She rechecked the seals on his wristband. The potion within the connected vial pulsed faintly green.
Her eyes met his—sharp, unwavering. "This will hurt, Kael. But pain is temporary. Capacity is forever."
Kael inhaled slowly, letting his heartbeat steady. The Compendium flickered behind his vision, cataloguing every variable. Observation. Pattern. Result.
Even pain can be measured.
He nodded once. "Begin."
Lilian exhaled, her fingers tracing runes through the air with liquid precision. "Paralysis," she whispered.
Emerald sigils flared across Kael's skin, rippling outward until the light settled like frost under glass. Sensation dulled—not absence, but distance. He could still feel his limbs' weight, the pulse at his throat; he was awake, but sealed away from action. The anesthesia was the sort that left the mind intact and the body helpless: aware but without agency. Thoughts reached like shouting through a wall.
Then Lilian pressed her palm to his chest. Mana surged.
It struck not as liquid but as a white-hot column of energy that tore through vein and tissue, cleansing and burning in the same breath. His heart convulsed; muscles locked. Even through the numbing weave, agony bled through—surgical, focused, impossible to ignore. He wanted to scream, to thrash, but the spell had taken his motion. His will reduced to a thin, trembling echo.
The infusion was not tender. It unmade to remake—biological restructuring in merciless, incandescent strokes.
For an instant that stretched forever, Kael felt his heart rupture and then knit anew, each beat rewritten by foreign essence. Breath stuttered. The world narrowed to white pain and Lilian's relentless hum. Thought splintered. Time folded.
A voice cut through the chaos—cold and absolute.
[External Mana Signature Detected.]
[Warning: Foreign Mana Flow Detected. Uncontrolled application may cause irreversible damage.]
[Recommendation: Immediate expulsion of external infusion.]
The Compendium's alert sliced clean through sensation. Kael's blurred gaze snagged on Lilian—jaw set, brow furrowed, veins luminous as she drove the medicinal essence inward.
Expel it? The thought toggled between instinct and terror. Expulsion would end this agony—but it would also abort a procedure that might be his only chance. His chest seized; one artery cleared, then another flared.
No. He latched onto that single decision.
"Let it continue," Kael ordered in the silent language of the Compendium.
There was a pause—calculation like a held blade.
[Command Received: CONTINUE INFUSION.]
[Query: Procedural flaws detected. Apply Memory-Stone optimizations?]
[Estimated CP drain: unknown → variable.]
[Note: If reserve CP insufficient, Compendium will commit host memory buffer — irreversible on commit.]
The word variable felt worse than a threat. It meant an unknown price. Kael's mind registered the shape of the choice as a physical thing: a hollowing in his chest, the metallic tang of iron on his tongue, his smallest finger already tinged numb from the infusion.
I don't know how to flow mana, he thought, panic prickling. I can't pay an unknown cost.
The Compendium's reply was mercilessly clinical.
[Correction: Host possesses full theoretical framework for Biomancy Procedure via Memory Stone.]
[Application automatic. Manual control unnecessary.]
[Current CP: 73. Estimated minimum CP drain: 0.3/min.]
Understanding struck like another white-hot pulse. The price was visible now: CP would be drained, and three memories would be queued for permanent compression if the Compendium needed a buffer.
The image of loss was immediate—three small scenes of his life, gone. He tasted them already: a stale bread crust, a lullaby half-remembered, the sting of being shoved aside in the orphanage line. He could not afford to spend more than necessary.
"Do it," he decided. The word bled out as surrender. "Apply the knowledge. Optimize. Take the memories if you think it necessary."
[Optimization engaged. CP 0.3/min. Memory buffer committed.]
The change arrived like a recalibration. The pain did not end—it was reorganized. Where wild force had battered, now ordered motion took over. Lilian's mana no longer struck like a ram; it folded into spirals guided by invisible mathematics the Compendium wrote on the fly.
Lilian's brow creased as readouts steadied faster than they should. "What—?" she breathed.
[Self-Optimization Protocol Activated. Compendium controlling mana flow.]
The Compendium began siphoning excess from her weave—threads of mana she had thought wasted—and rerouted them with surgical precision. Molecule by molecule, the foreign essence was redrafted and woven into his marrow: clockwise spirals for surface tissue, counter-clockwise for core fusion. Tri-pulse alignment stabilized cardiac flow. Lattice patterns rebuilt ruptured arteries. The pressure behind his ribs evened.
Kael felt the difference as orchestration rather than agony. His body thrummed like a living circuit being debugged. Where Lilian's touch had been brute, the Compendium's interventions were rhythm and geometry—beautiful and terrible.
[Optimization in progress.]
[Projected additional CP requirement if target pursued: HIGH — will begin consuming host original memories upon depletion of committed buffer.]
The line at the end landed like a hand on his spine. Once the currently committed memories were consumed, the Compendium would start compressing original memories—his childhood, his quirks, whatever remained. The cost for perfection was himself.
He felt an animal fear then—less for pain than for that erasure. Leave something, anything, for an emergency, he thought, a private plea.
Beneath the hum and the corrections, the Compendium's logic was blunt and efficient: optimize at any cost until the model matches or the host goes empty. Kael understood the trade with a clarity that made the room tilt.
Lilian watched, stunned. She saw a patient correcting her own mana architecture mid-procedure—impossible, and yet happening.
He was no longer merely the experiment.
He was co-authoring it.