"One in a billion."
The words hung in the stale air of the classroom, an invisible weight pressing down on the shoulders of every eight-year-old present. Except for one.
"Excuse me, Instructor Varen?"
The voice was polite, melodic, and entirely out of place. Varen stopped his pacing and slowly turned. Lucien had his hand raised, his vibrant, rainbow-colored eyes wide with an innocent curiosity that completely contradicted the predatory smile still lingering on his lips.
"Speak, your Highness," Varen said, the title practically dripping with sarcasm. "Do you have a question about your one-in-a-billion odds?"
"Not a question, sir. An observation," Lucien replied, standing up. The chair scraped back, breaking the oppressive silence. "Your premise is flawed."
The class collectively inhaled. The rowdy boy in the back looked like he wanted to crawl under his desk. You do not tell the Iron Instructor of Brownton Academy that his life's work is flawed.
"Flawed?" Varen's voice dropped dangerously low. "Enlighten me, Prince."
"You said the soul is a 4D entity and Essence is the energy leaking into our 3D world, correct?" Lucien began, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And to use it, we must force it into a 'Technique'—a cognitive pathway. A formula."
"Yes. Without the formula, the raw 4D energy would tear the 3D vessel—your body—apart. It is a necessary constraint."
"But that's exactly the flaw!" Lucien's smile widened, his eyes practically glowing. "You are taking a limitless, higher-dimensional force and shoving it through a rigid, lower-dimensional pipe. The ranking system—F through S—isn't a measure of the Technique's power. It's a measure of how efficiently you are suppressing the soul to keep the body safe."
Varen stared at the boy, the muscles in his jaw ticking. "And your alternative, boy? Let the raw energy flow and detonate yourself like a fleshy bomb?"
"No," Lucien said simply. "Instead of building a rigid pipe, you make the vessel adaptable. You don't tell the Essence what to do; you let the 4D soul dictate the shape, and you force the 3D brain to expand its comprehension in real-time. Formless casting. You don't create a technique. You become the conduit."
Silence. Complete, suffocating silence. What the eight-year-old had just described wasn't just highly illegal in standard magical theory; it was considered academic suicide.
Varen walked slowly down the aisle until he stood inches from Lucien. The hardened veteran and the glowing prince locked eyes.
"That theory," Varen whispered, so only Lucien could hear, "was outlawed by the Order of Dinatis two hundred years ago. It drove the last man who attempted it insane before he exploded into a mist of pure energy. Read the syllabus, Prince. Next time you spout heresy in my classroom, I will have you expelled, royal blood or not."
Lucien didn't flinch. He just bowed his head slightly. "Understood, Instructor."
But inside? Lucien was vibrating with excitement. Outlawed. Two hundred years ago. The universe had left him a puzzle, and he fully intended to solve it.
Later that evening, the moon hung high over Brownton Academy. Lucien sat cross-legged on the plush bed of his private dorm room, a massive, leather-bound book resting on his lap: The Anatomy of the 4D Construct.
He wasn't reading it so much as devouring it. His mind raced, calculating theoretical pathways, visualizing his own soul as a brilliant, tesseract-like structure hovering just out of phase with reality. He held up his right hand, concentrating.
Don't force it into a shape, he thought. Just... let it bleed.
A microscopic spark of pure, prismatic light flickered at his fingertip. It didn't form a flame or a sphere. It just was. It hummed with a frequency that made his teeth ache, and for a split second, Lucien felt a terrifying, euphoric sense of absolute freedom.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The spark vanished. Lucien blinked, the 3D world snapping back into focus. "Enter."
The heavy oak door creaked open. It wasn't a servant or a dorm monitor. It was the Headmaster of Brownton Academy himself, flanked by two Royal Guards of House Adrek. Their armor clanked heavily, but their faces were what caught Lucien's attention.
They looked like ghosts.
"Headmaster?" Lucien closed the book. The smile finally faltered, slipping from his face as the atmosphere in the room plummeted.
The Headmaster took a trembling step forward and dropped to one knee, removing his hat. The guards did the same.
"Your Highness..." The Headmaster's voice cracked. He stared at the floor, unable to meet the boy's vibrant eyes. "I... I do not know how to say this."
Lucien stood up. The air suddenly felt very cold. "Say what?"
"It's your mother, the Queen. Luna Solaris Adrek." The Headmaster swallowed hard, tears welling in his aged eyes. "There was an incident at the palace. She... she fell from the highest window of the Solarium."
The words hit Lucien like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Fell?" Lucien whispered, his mind racing to comprehend a variable it hadn't calculated.
"She didn't survive the impact, Prince Lucien. I am so, so sorry. Your mother is dead."
For the first time in his eight years of life, the boy who radiated light like the sun felt something entirely alien creep into his chest.
Darkness.